Tread Softly
by natashawitch
Summary: All Human AU - Dean & Sam grew up on the road with their mechanic father. Dean took care of Sammy and Sam was the voice of his selective mute brother. Until the day that Dean was gone. The memory of his deceased brother drove Sam to achieve the best, until another fateful day when Sam discovered John had lied. Dean wasn't dead. Mpreg, Slow Build Destiel & Samifer.
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

Supernatural and its characters are not mine. I claim nothing except the plot. No copyright infringement intended.

I'm not American so apologies in advance for any honourables instead of honorables etc. that escape editing.

Story Title from WB Yeats- He Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven  
"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++

_Sam Winchester's first memory was of his brother's voice. It was accompanied by a small hand stroking his cheek, the smell of chamomile lotion, a burning itchiness, and soothing whispers that he was a good boy not to cry and wake Daddy. There were earlier vague impressions of Dean and all the goodness and warmth associated with his brother, but it was that humming comfort offered by his big brother that Sam cherished close to his heart._

_Later Sam learned that the winter when he was 3 and Dean was 7 they both came down with measles. The night Sam's fever spiked and Dean ran stumbling with his own illness over the two blocks from their motel to an emergency room wasn't the first time they came to the attention of the CPS nor would it be the last. Sam knew this because John drilled it into Dean that hospitals were the last resort. After the measles incident and their flight from the children's ward, fevers meant ice baths and Tylenol, fractures meant splints, and there was never any hope that Dean would receive treatment for his selective mutism._

_It was almost ironic that Sam's last memory of his brother also involved Dean's sparingly used voice. They roared for each other in unison as Sam was restrained by an officer and Dean was forcibly taken away. They told Sam they were taking him to the hospital, to treat his suspected concussion, said they'd be reunited at the foster home. They'd lied. Everyone lied. _

Sam Winchester sat in his comfortable spot. He was surprised that the dirt didn't hold Sam-shaped grooves from all the times he'd escaped from John's wrath or drunken raving finding haven in between the junkers in Bobby's yard. The current pair of door-less sedans were a perfect distance apart for his back to rest against the side panel of one while his feet were braced against the tire of the other. The angle of the overhanging crushed vehicle meant his History and Culture of Egypt text book was shaded from the Sioux Falls slanting winter light. He had found the perfect sawn off end of a plank to use a lap table for his notes. He was supposedly doing his pre-course work in advance of the next quarter of his sophomore year at Stanford. Actually he was thinking about how he was going to make up all his lost wages. He'd secured extra shifts at the restaurant over the holidays. He was damned lucky that the boss was a considerate employer and was keeping his job open for him, after Sam had up and deserted them at the last second. Brady, whose waiter service involved mixing up orders and dropping glasses, had stepped up to cover a few of Sam's shifts. Jess said if she hadn't been going home to the folks, she would have gone down to one of the scary floor managers and tried to pick some of Sam's absence too. The student appreciated his friends rallying around him. He sighed long and tried to concentrate again on getting a heads up on one of his new course selections.

Huddling down inside his warm ski-jacket style coat, Sam enjoyed the respite from his father's grouchy temper. He was doing his best to stay silent, slowly turning pages with his mitten-free fingers, and scratching rare words or underlining with his mechanical pencil. He had left his Discman in his repacked duffel, wanting to hear any noise of John limping on his crutches or Bobby letting Rumsfield out for a run. He needed a break from the tension in Uncle Bobby's house.

Sam rolled his eyes purely for his own benefit. He should be at The Gates helping clean up the leavings of New Year's Eve, joking with Meg, maybe having a coffee with the boss on his break, trying to avoid Alastair's drill sergeant mode of management, and planning what to do with the extra bucks beyond rent, student loans and topping up his scholarship. But John had to go and break his leg.

To be fair it wasn't his father's fault some jerk newbie had left the jack fall during a pit stop. The team had paid all his medical bills and bought John an automatic truck. Sam had inherited the Impala, so something good had come from having his holidays ruined. As soon as John could get around on crutches they were off to Bobby's junk yard to recuperate. Although Sam grudgingly conceded that Bobby had done his best on Christmas Day with a huge side of roast beef. Then later there was a beer, snacks and game watching get together for the Winchesters, the Mills and Bobby's buddies from the roadhouse.

Sam didn't get why Bobby put up with John. Sure they were old friends but John was insufferable with his injury. In Sam's experience most of the time John and Bobby couldn't stand the sight of each other, yet when Bobby's wife died they had spent two months in Sioux Falls, and when Sam got pneumonia they had gone to Bobby, and when Dean died...

Sam bit his lip. He clicked his tongue and tried to look at the text book, but now that he had thought of Dean the print swam on the page. Being here, it brought back memories. Hide and Seek with Dean between the cars, his own high pitched childish giggles and Dean pouncing silently on him. Being here, allowing Dean to be a child not Sam's caregiver. On the road with Dad, as they travelled from stock car circuit to NASCAR to drag racing and private collectors, in motels and cheap rentals, Dean took care of Sam. John was busy, working, drinking with other mechanics, attending the races if he wasn't in the pits. Sometimes they were left alone for days, even weeks but Dean always managed.

Just when things were good it was all taken away. It was Sam's fault. He squeezed his eyes tight not wanting to relive it again but unable to prevent the memory from surfacing. Stupid prick of a kid, he was. Shouting at Dean, drawing attention to them, Sam had known better, knew it was a bad idea, but he'd lost his temper…

… Then there were the motel owner, paramedics and cops and it was all a mess. Sam stayed at his school principal's house until the following Monday when John Winchester breezed back into town, high on adrenalin and his bonus for a team win. Sam never knew the details, even when over the years he had tried to prize them out of his father. He knew Dean's injuries extended to a bruised rib and a concussion. There was talk of Dean's mutism, his anger, ADHD, broad spectrum Aspergers. It was bullshit. Sam tried to tell them but no one would listen.

Then the kicker, John hadn't known his son was a carrier. He hadn't had the tests. They had moved schools and districts too often. Dean wasn't just a member of the one in three thousand men who had a vestigial womb, they had done a full medical, he was one of the one in ten thousand who could carry a child. From the crack in the open door, Sam saw a look a horror and disgust pass over his father's face. The social worker and teacher took sips of their iced teas while they discussed homes and options for Dean... unsuitable lifestyle for a disabled carrier... wouldn't your younger clever son thrive in foster care? Two hours later John and Sam were on the road, heading for a new job in a new state, leaving Dean in the hospital in Arkansas.

On Thanksgiving Sam pestered his Dad to go and visit Dean. He pleaded, refused to eat, stood in front of the TV during the game, cussed out Pastor Jim when he tried to calm him, finally his father had roared that they couldn't see Dean because Dean was dead.

Sam's world stopped. The planet no longer turned. It tilted on its axis. He didn't speak. He knew that hurt his father. He wanted him to hurt. Not a word passed his lips until John left him in Blue Earth with Pastor Jim.

Sam decided to live. He would do it for Dean. His brother had always made him do his studies, now Sam threw himself into them. When John uprooted him and took him to Bobby's place, Sam quickly became known as the new guy who would do your homework for a fee. Later when they hit the road again, John left him on his own in motels and apartments. Sam survived on his wits and brain, bartering trig quizzes for school lunches and history papers for actual cash. He skipped a grade when they'd landed back in Sioux Falls for a season, taken AP classes, bugged teachers so that his credits transferred from school to school, state to state. Getting the scholarship to Stanford was the best moment of his life. He could leave John and the travelling existence behind, be normal, show the world he could be someone, just like Dean would have wanted.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning he could load up his Impala. A smile broke across Sam's face, at the thought of bringing her to California. He would drive his car back to college and forget about the last few weeks of stifling parental disapproval.

He heard John's crutches and Bobby's firm steps coming down from the front porch. He checked again that he was hidden from sight hoping they weren't looking for him.

"John, you gotta tell the boy." Bobby's gruff voice urged.

"Don't think so Bobby, he is better off this way. It is easier."

"Easier for you, you mean you idjit. It has been anything but for him."

If Sam was a dog his ear would have cocked. He waited for his father to respond but Bobby spoke again with a break in his angry voice.

"Balls, Winchester, I can't believe you kept it from me for nigh on seven years."

"Wouldn't have told you at all if you weren't such a nosy so and so." John's crutches tapped on the wooden steps.

"Hey it is my damned house. I thought the letter was for me."

"Huh. Well you know now. You gonna disrespect my wishes and tell Sammy?"

Sam cringed at the pet-name.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." Bobby challenged.

"He is going back to Stanford tomorrow. You don't want to ruin it for him. Seeing Dean could throw him off the rails."

The world narrowed. It shrank down to a single pinprick.

"You ever even visit the boy?" Bobby accused.

"No. It was better this way. They said in the letter that he is very well adjusted. It was a clean break for us all."

His father's voice seemed to come from a distance, traveling through a long tunnel of years of deception.

"Balls, John. I know you have a problem with gays but not all carriers are homo."

"I will not have a queer for a son and I was proved right. He was a fairy."

Sam cringed at the language. He curved a hand over his own stomach, thanking every god and angel his father had never questioned him, happy to presume his younger son was growing up to be a red-blooded straight hulk of manliness, even if leaving for Stanford meant he wasn't rednecked enough to make John proud.

"That is some spew of crap coming out of your mouth about your own boy." Bobby growled.

"Facts, Bobby. How else do you imagine Dean got himself up the duff back then?"

"I don't know John, and you never took the trouble to find out, did you ya dumb sonvabitch?" Bobby's voice was rising further, "The whole thing sounds off to me. Why did they write to you to ask if they should press charges?"

"I'm still his next of kin. Suppose there were some rules about it, seeing as he is a ward of the place."

Sam felt sick. His mind was spinning. Bobby and John were talking as if Dean was alive. Alive and had been pregnant and was in some kind of trouble. He jerked the plank and book onto the ground and stood up. The two older men's faces fell when they saw Sam's tall figure appear behind the car.

"Where is Dean?" Sam demanded through gritted teeth. His hands curled into fists by his side.

"Sammy?" John's face collapsed, paling under his salt and pepper beard.

"No you don't. Don't you 'Sammy' me! Where is Dean? He is alive. I heard you. Where is he?"

"Arkansas."

"What is he doing in Arkansas? Where does he live? Did CPS put him in to foster care? Why did you tell me he was dead?"

"Hospital."

"What?"

"Dean never left hospital." John sighed.

"Since I was twelve? For nearly half my life Dean has been in a hospital? Why? Did he get ill? Is that why you told me he was dead?"

"The day we left, when I took you from that teacher's house, I signed the papers for Dean to go into adolescent psychiatric care. They said it was for the best Sam. And you were old enough not to need Dean to take care of you."

Sam growled like an animal. He wanted to rip John's head off his shoulders, but he waited.

"You don't understand Sam. He's a carrier. I always thanked the angels that I had two boys, you couldn't travel like I do with a girl. It would only be a matter of time before Dean got into trouble, and with his silence and his shyness, and those perverts looking for pretty boys who hang around roadhouses and motels. You know, he was better off in the system."

"Don't you dare..." Sam fumed, nostrils flaring, "Don't you dare justify your actions by saying they were better for Dean. Easier for you."

"And you Sam." John said in a pleading tone, "You didn't have to cope with having a mute faggot carrier for a brother. Look at you, how well you are doing, how good you have turned out."

"That is because of Dean, Dad. Everything is in his memory." Sam cried with tears of anger. "Where the fuck is he?"

"Arkansas Care for Indigent Carriers. They transferred him there."

"Why? Dad? Why didn't you get him?"

John shrugged.

Sam seethed. There were no words that could have explained this, no rational John could have given to satisfy his raging nineteen year old. The fact that John didn't even try coiled battery acid in Sam's gut. He couldn't look at his father. Sam huffed with shoulders hunched, trying to wrap his head around everything. "What letter? Bobby mentioned a letter?"

"Dean got himself a boyfriend somehow, some sick pansy fuck working in the hospital. The perv has been fired but they wanted to know if I'd like charges pressed."

Sam didn't listen. He never wanted to hear another word from his father's lips. He took Bobby's stairs two at a time. His bags were packed for the morning. He swept up his last personal belongings and was in the Impala in less than ten minutes.

Bobby and Rumsfield stood in his way under the salvage yard sign.

Sam pulled up.

"You can't stop me Uncle Bobby. I'm going for Dean."

"I know you are son." The older mechanic bent down to lean on the window jam, tipping his cap, "Here something for the journey."

Sam took the canvas bag and placed it on the seat.

"Thanks." He muttered.

"You take care now, Sam, of yourself and your brother. Be good to Dean and prepare yourself son. The man you'll find may not be the boy you remember. And you know, you can always come back here if you need somewhere."

"Thanks." Sam repeated, "You're one of the good ones Uncle Bobby."

He tore out of the yard before John could make an appearance. A few miles down the road he pulled over to check his father's truck wasn't following. It wasn't. He opened the door and vomited his breakfast all over the asphalt. Pressing his head against his hand, Sam took long shallow breaths. He didn't have a long term plan, only the goal of getting to Dean. After a pause, Sam glanced at the lunch Bobby had packed, finding a thermos, a hipflask, some sandwiches and two thousand dollars in a money clip with a post-it saying "for a new start boys."


	2. One

Sam makes it to Arkansas. He discovers details of Dean's life there. Warning for brief reference to previous suicide attempts.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_Sam leaped over fallen branches. New bright verdant leaves shot across his field of vision. He had Sydney in his sights as his shorter Little League star best friend crested the rise and made it to the hiking trail. Sam was gaining on him. He could hear Sydney laughing a taunt that gangly Sam would never catch him. Lungs burning in the best way Sam's chest burst with joy. He loved it in Speedway and wished that they could stay there forever. Back in August on Sam's first day in 6th Grade, Sydney Bass had knocked him to the floor with a welcome back mauling. Sam took a moment longer to recognize his playmate from second grade, the last time John had a stint with a different Indy Car team as a factory mechanic. Sam'n'Syd had been inseparable since. What was mega brilliant was that Dean and Aaron had hit it off big time, making sibling supervised sleepovers possible. Sam even thought he'd caught sight of Dean whispering to Aaron on the sofa in their ratty apartment but it looked like Dean was licking Aaron's ear which was just gross. Not that they would have done anything like that if John was home. Then Dean and Aaron were 'just friends'._

_Sydney skidded to a halt at the picnic table where his Dads and their older brothers were waiting for the younger boys to burn off energy. Sam tagged him anyway, getting an eye roll in response. He was glad to stop, bent double to catch his breath and ease the dull ache in his lower belly. He'd had the deep twinges for a couple of days off and on. It was two aches really, above the centre of each thigh. Sam didn't know much about the onset of male carrier puberty but other kids had whispered about The Twinges. Rick, back in Biloxi, had told Sam that The Twinges were the first egg being left out and that those small boys with huge bellies with their pictures in his Momma's True Life magazine got pregnant and didn't even know it. Sam was scared to ask anyone, even Dean. He could maybe ask Eli, but it was still hard for him to imagine the tall broad shouldered dentist as a birth parent. Sam decided on denial until his school testing in a couple of years. He wasn't planning on having an icky boyfriend or anything and maybe the pain was just a slow brewing belly-bug._

_David was stretching across their picnic bench laying out Tupperware containers, while his Rabbi father, Isaac, took drinks from their cooler. Under the wooden table, Dean had his fingers wrapped around Aaron's and his arm placed on Aaron's sweater vest at the small of his back. Neither teenager was talking. Eli was twisted round, chatting with the family at the next spot about the warm weather. Sam could see the poster for the Easter Egg Hunt in Eagle Creek Park the following Sunday, but Dean poked Sam hard with his elbow to shut him up when he wanted to hint to David that they could come back for it. Sam supposed Dean meant it would have been rude to ask because the Bass Dads included them so much already and they were Jewish and all. He hoped it wasn't because their Dad would be out of work on March 31st and they might have to move again. John was covering the extended paternity leave for another mechanic and he was sore as hell that he had give it up when the guy came back. With drink taken John's favorite scapegoat was 'sissy-dads'. Sam saw how badly John's ravings affected Dean. Each gutter worded insult evident as a blow on Dean's face, but Sam's brother kept stoic, handed John another beer and made sure Sam was in bed before John was in danger of breaking what little furniture they had. Sam admired Dean's loyalty to Aaron and his family and he clearly did not share their Dad's bigoted opinions. Sam wondered, late at night with his walkman ear buds in, if those twinges were his sign, and maybe if they were, then even if John looked at him in horror, Dean would understand and still care for him._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The memory of that Spring in Indiana swirled around Sam's head like a swarm of insects as he drove. Despite Sam's worries about his developing body, those had been idyllic blissful days, unappreciated at the time. He huffed to himself as he overtook a flatbed truck, letting the Impala's engine roar. Days after the picnic in Eagle Creek Park, John had word of work in Batesville Arkansas. They'd packed up and blown out of Speedway, with only an hour at the arcade as a farewell to their friends. Dean kept wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, but Sam was too upset at being uprooted to offer his brother any comfort. Their motel in Batesville wasn't equipped for a long stay but Dean did his best with the microwave and dinky drinks fridge and the school was good with great teachers and a place on the soccer team for Sam. He remembered Dean came down with a stomach flu he couldn't shake and developed a bitch-mood that riled Sam up so much that they were barely communicating when John took off for a race weekend. Looking back, Sam considered how naïve he had been. Was Dean's stomach flu really a baby? Was Dean pregnant with Aaron's child when they'd been separated? Was that how the doctors knew so quickly that Dean was a carrier, because he was carrying then? What had happened to the baby? Did Sam have a six year old niece or nephew out there somewhere?

Pulling over for gas Sam searched through the Impala's map books for his route to Arkansas. Two things struck him. First that John was going to be mightily peeved when he realized the maps hadn't moved across to his new truck. Secondly said maps didn't have a big Where's Waldo figure pointing out each state's care homes. Being in Bum Fuck Nowhere the gas station didn't have a coin operated internet terminal, nor did the hay blown main street have an internet café or library according to Cletus the Slack Jawed Yokel who took Sam's fifty and paid him back in slowly counted dollar bills.

Wondering if he'd get cooties from the cardboard cup he'd filled at the self-dispensing coffee machine, Sam slurped back the foamy white vanilla cappuccino. He fumbled with his phone, considering where each of his circle of friends could be; work, library, traveling back to Palo Alto? The possibilities made his head hurt, so he rang their landline.

"Blake, Winchester, Brady, Moore and Gallagher, How may I help you?"

"Sarah, Jesus Christ, stop pretending we're a law firm, would'ya?" Sam laughed, "What if your Dad calls? Or even scarier Jess's Mom?"

"Stops the cold callers, Sammy-baby." Sarah chuckled back at him. "What's cooking? Still nursey-maid to laid up lame Papa Winchester?"

"No." Sam's good humor evaporated, "I've a favor to ask."

"Sounds grave. Shoot gun-boy."

Sam eye rolled. He adored Sarah but her puns could use work. "Can you go to the library or somewhere and find out where Arkansas Care for Indigent Carrier's is? And do they have visiting hours?"

"Geez, don't tell me you knocked up a country boy?" Sarah tittered.

"No I did not." Sam replied through gritted teeth. Some things weren't for joking about.

Sarah picked up on it and apologized. Then Sam heard her voice at distance, as if she was shouting with the handset held away from her face, "Andy, Andy Gallagher, wake the fuck up!"

The last words were said in the same cadence as 'come on down'.

"Sorry Sam. He's had a good new year."

Sam opened his mouth to reply but Sarah was shouting, "Andy? Where is the Arkansas Daddy and Baby Home?"

"Does he know?" Sam asked.

"Freaking douche hit me with a cushion," Sarah muttered, "I know he's from Missouri but West Plains isn't that far from Arkansas. Sam, Mr. Grouchy Beer Keg Head says it's in Eureka Springs."

"Good," Sam spread the wide map across his knees, "Any clue about how to get an in? Open hours for visitors at these places?"

"A what? What are you doing, Sam?"

"I'm going to spring my brother." Sam said with firm determination.

"But you don't have… wait… Your brother?" Sarah gasped as she added two and two together, "Give me an hour. I'll call you back."

Sam didn't get a chance to thank his house mate, as she was already gone. He was confident in her research and planning abilities. There would be a complete and fool proof plan to get Sam into the care home, if Sarah tackled his problem with as much gusto as her assignments (which Sam inherited as non-plagiarizing inspiration taking some of the same classes a year behind the junior Art History and Classics major).

Sam was in a diner in Omaha, trying to sooth his anxiety heartburn with food, when Sarah returned his call. He put down a forkful of his barely touched chicken Caesar salad to answer. The waitress gave him a stink eye for having his cell turned on and pointed to an inane poster with a brick style cartoon phone behind a forbidden sign. Sam ignored her while he mentally calculated the minimum tip percentage.

"You have an appointment at 11 tomorrow morning with the Director." Sarah informed him.

"How…whoa?" Sam managed in response. His previous plan of pulling up in his Impala and demanding to see Dean seemed like a piss poor one now.

"I told them I was calling on behalf of Sam Winchester and it was imperative that he meet with someone in authority regarding his concerns about his brother's care." Sarah put on her professional and quite intimidating voice.

"That's… wow," Sam said in appreciation. Sarah didn't have the facts about the jerk who'd been fired for doing things to Dean that Sam didn't want to think all the way through. "That was perfect."

"I expect a full report and the full story in compensation."

"Yes Ma'am," Sam grinned, "You are a lifesaver Sarah."

"I know," Sarah laughed, "I keep telling all you sophomores I'm awesome."

Sam made it back to his car without melting into goo from the death glare of the surly waitress. He patted the passenger seat absently, imagining he'd need to sweep the sheet map and his folded coat out of the way so that Dean could slip in beside him. Or maybe that Sam would take his usual shotgun seat but instead of Dad behind the wheel it would be back to the days of Dean thumping his fist to the music, reveling in his new driver's permit.

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket to lay it on the map. Fingering the buttons on his cell so that his contacts list scrolled down the small screen, he bit his lip and pressed **Nick Private**. He almost disconnected as the ringing tone continued.

"Happy New Year, Sam." Nick's simple wish allowed Sam to resume breathing.

"You too, boss." Sam sighed.

"Missed you for the party, we kept going after we shoved the guests out into the night. I have photographic evidence of Fergus shirtless and comatose under a table. He might be still there." Nick chuckled.

Sam smiled finding it impossible to picture the evening shift manager without his ever present dark suit jacket. "Nick?"

"Yeah, what's going on?" The older man's voice dropped all levity, "You OK Sam?"

Gulping back his emotions Sam didn't want to lay it all out for his employer, even if he was a friend too, "I've gotta go to Arkansas, and I'll be back, I have to be back for the start of the semester, but…." Sam's voice broke, "I won't make my Saturday shift."

"Fuck the shift, I'll waiter myself, or risk sending Brady out of the kitchen again. What's going on? Tell me." Nick's firm voice steadied Sam's nerve.

"My brother…" Sam closed his eyes, "He's alive, all this time, and our father stuck him in one of those homes for carriers and told me he was dead, and I mourned him, everyday every minute, it ripped me apart, and all this time he was there, alone, maybe thinking I had forgotten him…"

Sam was sobbing. The shock and the grief and the lost years poured out of him. It was ugly messy crying that subsided with an awareness of Nick making soothing noises and simple words at the other end of the line.

"It will be alright, you're a good brother, you'll see."

"That's very optimistic," Sam choked.

"Anything you need Sam, you call me, OK?"

"Yeah."

"Serious here. Promise you'll ask?"

"Yeah I promise," Sam blew a long breath, "Thanks and sorry for losing my… I dunno… my composure I guess."

"You've had a shock. Are you driving?" Nick asked.

"Not now." Sam was ready to get back on the road.

"Well, take care. Take rest stops and stay safe. I need you back here in one piece, so I can afford to roast Brady over hot coals."

Sam laughed at the attempt to joke about his clumsy friend and vowed to drive carefully. He felt better and lighter after talking with Nick. The older man had a way of making everything problem seem more manageable. A coffee with Nick made nasty customers fade into the background and his affectionate back claps or hugs of greeting made Sam feel more important, special even.

Reinvigorated by the conversation, Sam drove on, down I-29 into Iowa and Missouri. A black moonless night fell. Temperatures plummeted and ice threatened on the damp roads. He took Nick's advice, stopping for gas and caffeine, a quick taco in a drive-thru, and once for a simple half hour of rest at the side of the road. It was better when he was driving, concentrating on the white lines and mile markers. He had no point of reference for Dean's life and any imaginings were based on horror flicks, urban myths, and salacious stories of uncovered abuses at institutions. Sam knew he was torturing himself and tried instead to fathom the magnitude of knowing Dean was alive, or to focus on his new college schedule. There were text messages of support as he travelled from his housemates who had shared the news and one from Nick advising him to find a motel if he was still driving.

It was pushing midnight when Sam pulled into the parking lot of the Eureka Springs Super 8. Dipping into Bobby's gift he paid up for a queen room and collapsed into the bed, only removing his boots and setting his cell phone alarm for the morning.

The clear crisp dawn brought a blissfully hot shower and butterflies flipping so powerfully that breakfast was not a consideration. At check out the matronly receptionist hand wrote directions to the care home on a local attractions map. She patted his hand and asked if he had a boyfriend out there. Sam realized she might have been trying to stop his hands from trembling. He shook his head and thanked her.

He was early for his appointment, driving slow and taking in the idyllic forest scenery as he made his way west the three miles to his destination. He took the left turn after the baseball park and headed up hill until he saw the beginning of a dauntingly high wall on his right. Huge gates with Arkansas CIC painted on them soon greeted Sam. He found a buzzer and pressed it. A tinny voice asked his business and Sam rattled off his name and appointment while noticing the high security camera. The gates slung open at a leisurely pace while the voice told him to check in at the main building.

Inside what nothing like Sam had been expecting. A long sweeping drive curved around sparse trees and lawn with patches of unmelted snow. To the left individual log cabins dotted the property. Sam counted five that he could see, one with a stroller at the door. At another a young black man carrying an infant was exiting. The drive terminated at a two story breeze block building of eighties construction. A fir tree on the lawn was bedecked with Christmas lights and handcrafted wooden decorations. A sign pointed to the main door for visitors' reception, another guided him to the parking lot at the rear. As he swung the Impala around Sam noticed a more imposing three storey construction to the right. It looked older with narrow windows, barred on the top storey, and it gave him the creeps. There was a final low prefabricated building set back from the main one. A homemade rainbow colored sign declared it ACIC High School.

Sam stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders when he emerged. A teenager with a visible bump under his winter coat emerged from the ominous building and made his way to the front of the main one. When he saw Sam staring he smiled and waved. Sam raised his hand limply in response. He didn't know what to make of the mixed signals this place was giving him.

Inside the reception was bright and warm with tinsel lining the edge of the high desk and comfortable wide chairs for waiting under another Christmas tree. A Perspex stand held pamphlets titled Adoption For You and Choosing Your Life. Sam cleared his throat to attract the attention of the young man behind the desk who was engaged in trying to wrestle his pen from a determined two year old.

"Sorry Sir," The guy said, abandoning his pen battle, and straightening his button down, "Harry's not used to having to sit still. It's our first week helping out at reception. My name's Aiden."

"Right," Sam cleared his throat, "I've an appointment with the Director."

"Oh, I see, yes, well Ms Godwin is with the Social Committee now," Aiden pulled a huge diary out from under a clean toddler diaper, "Are you Mr. Winchester, her eleven o'clock?"

"That's me," Sam couldn't help a smile despite his own nerves.

"Can you sign in please?" The guy tapped a log book to Sam's right, "And can I see your ID?"

Sam handed over his driver's permit and wrote his name. Under purpose of visit he pressed hard onto the paper distorting his normal students' scrawl into a message to the world that he was here for Dean Winchester.

"You're here to see Dean?" Aiden gasped with his head contorted to read Sam's writing, "I'm sorry. It's just that Father Moriarty and the volunteers are Dean's only visitors. Sorry, sorry, ahem, do you want a coffee while you wait, or a juice? I have juice."

"Wait, you know Dean." Sam pleaded.

"Yeah, I was, when I came here I had a problem," He unbuttoned his sleeve and showed Sam old track marks, "I'm clean and sober now, all for Harry, but I was in the psych ward. I know Dean. He doesn't talk you know?"

Sam chuffed a laugh, "I know. I'm his brother. Is he? Is he alright?"

Aiden clammed up. He flicked a glance back at his son. "Ms Godwin will tell you, I'm sure. She won't be long."

Sam could see the young father wasn't going to break any rules and tell him about Dean. Along with the anxiety of speculating that Aiden's reluctance came from Dean being not OK at all, there also was a wonder that Sam had just spoken with someone who knew Dean.

Sam was leafing through a pamphlet on carrier contraception methods when Aiden called to him. Then a petite red-haired woman in a dark blue power suit was marching towards him with her hand extended, "Mr. Winchester?"

"Sam, please," he said as he towered over her and took the offered hand. Her grip could break iron.

"Please call me Naomi. My office is this way." She said as she beckoned for him to follow. "Aiden, why don't you call Terry to relieve you and Harry for a break?"

Sam heard Aiden thank the Director as they entered a long green carpeted hallway of closed doors.

"Offices," Naomi answered his unspoken question, "The upper storey is a shared apartment for our pregnant residents who do not need medical supervision. There is a lodge for our onsite staff members. The cabins, I presume you saw, are for our new Dads until they are ready to re-enter the world outside. We have a small school and vocational program. Our hospital serves the local community as the carrier center of excellence, and it is where our babies are born and those needing special care reside."

"It isn't what I imagined." Sam said as they entered a bright yellow walled corner office. He took the offered chair in front of a large dark wood desk covered in files and a desktop Dell. The wall was filled with framed photographs of guys with kids, a few of groups of pregnant boys in the sun and of guys shooting hoops on a court surrounded by trees. He failed to pick Dean out in any of them.

"I am sure you wish to hear about your brother."

Sam nodded, "I am here to see him."

Naomi tapped on her desktop keyboard for a moment, then spoke as if reciting from the file, "Dean Michael Winchester was transferred from Batesville General Hospital in May 1996. He was seventeen. He had been admitted with a fractured rib and skull consistent with a fall due to being kicked."

Sam flushed with shame. Luckily the Director was not looking in his direction. "They tested him there and found he was a carrier?"

"No Mr. Winchester…"

"Sam, please."

"Sam. It is recorded here that Dean spoke to a paramedic about his baby and the pains he had been experiencing. The miscarriage occurred in his second week at the hospital."

Sam swallowed down a ball of guilt, "Did he lose the baby from his injury?"

"The cause and the medical team's interventions are not recorded but as Dean had been experiencing pain previously and he was not injured in a critical area, it is more probable that was a slow miscarriage, perhaps an ectopic pregnancy."

Sam found a modicum of relief in that. He couldn't have coped if his twelve year old raging temper had killed Dean's baby.

"Attempts were made to contact Dean's father and to extract the name of the baby's father from Dean, but neither were successful. Mr. Winchester Senior had signed the committal papers for his vulnerable son before he disappeared. Dean's file records that he reacted violently and was aggressive in the wake of the miscarriage and as he came to terms with his father's departure. He was in the general hospital population recovering from his D&C. During a shift changeover he stole a scalpel and was found bleeding out in a disabled toilet. After that he was placed on a 72 hour hold in their closed ward. After assessment the small Batesville hospital was considered unsuitable for his long term needs and Dean came here. Unfortunately almost immediately Dean was labeled as uncommunicative and uncooperative. He lost any ward privileges and was subject to restraint and time outs. In July he is recorded as changing his attitude. His co-operation increased and his watch-status was relaxed. It was not discovered how Dean accessed the maintenance stairwell. He suffered a fractured tibia, elbow and eye socket in his fall from the hospital roof. From that point he was considered a patient-at-risk."

"What does that mean?" Sam whispered. He had barely dared to breath during Naomi's account, his mind filling in around the dry account how desperate, hopeless and wretched his trapped grieving brother must have been to attempt suicide twice.

"Do you know the history of our facility?"

The question and shift of subject startled Sam. He hadn't known that prep work was expected for his interview.

"I do not mean how we were founded in 1897 to provide shelter for disowned and distressed male carriers in need, a tradition built from the time when small refuges provided these young men escape from persecution as witches or condemned them to destitution, or scapegoated boys as Different." Naomi pinned Sam with her eyes and departed from the gender studies textbook speech, "Our recent history? How we reacted to the exposé of Alabama's State Home on the infamous showing of 60 Minutes?"

Sam shook his head. He had a vague recollection of an outcry during his spring break of 11th Grade. Sam hadn't seen the news reports but there had been a nationwide alert after the scandal. Many states had ordered investigations into standards and abuse allegations at all sorts of residential care facilities.

"My predecessor and the predecessors of almost all our current employees ran the home in a shameful and ultimately criminal manner." Naomi clasped her hands together on the desk.

Sam gulped. He met the sincere gaze of the woman in front of him and nodded. He steeled his core and prepared to hear her out.

"It is my duty to inform you, Mr. Winchester, that your brother was with us during this malevolent period." The Director moved to place a hand on a bound document. "My report into the institution is a matter of public record and you are welcome to a copy. Initially I came here as chief investigator but was privileged to be appointed as a new broom in the aftermath. I understand this is difficult to hear. Our findings resulted in prosecutions and there is a class action lawsuit trundling through the courts on behalf of the patients."

"How long?" Sam managed to voice the hoarse words from his dry throat.

"My reign here began three years ago," Naomi continued gravely, "Previously there was systematic over medication of our psychiatric residents. The staff kept any troublesome patient in a mannequin-type state, easier to deal with for them. I saw young men strapped to chairs, insensible, unable to feed themselves. It was profoundly shocking."

"And Dean?" Sam choked.

"Yes, including Dean." Naomi passed him a Kleenex.

"But now, is he? Where does Dean live?" Sam couldn't phrase the question any clearer.

"Dean has his own room on the top floor of the psychiatric wing."

Sam heard her, but all he could see in his mind's eye were the bars on the windows of that storey. He stewed inside that Dean was still there, but he tried to let it sink in that this woman was the one who had stopped the abuse not inflicted it.

Naomi's desk buzzer went off and she rose to greet an attractive woman with long pushed back hair and a white doctor's coat.

"Sam, let me introduce Dean's psychiatrist, Dr Layla Rourke."

Sam stood on foal-like legs and took the small soft hand of the woman who he hoped was an advocate for his brother.

When they were seated again, Naomi filled Layla in on what she had stunned Sam with so far. The psychiatrist smoothed down her skirt and crossed her legs. She gifted Sam with a wan smile. "I am pleased to meet you, Sam. I feel I know you a little already from Dean."

"Dean 'talked' to you?" Sam checked.

"Dean draws, sketches. He is quite talented. You feature in some of the memory pieces I asked him to submit during our sessions." Dr Rourke leaned forward, "Dean will be overjoyed at your visit."

Sam nodded, "How is he? Ms Godwin told me of the abuse he suffered here." There was an accusing stab in his tone. Sam splayed his fingers on his thighs, feeling the warm denim and pressing down to control his turmoil.

Dr Rourke held out her arm and the director placed a heavy manila folder in her hand. "Let me assure you that my tenure here commenced in the new regime. I oversaw the careful transition of our patients to an acceptable, appropriate and beneficial medication profile for their conditions. You must understand that most of our clients in the mental health ward are with us for post-partum depression, substance abuse and behavioral issues." She could see Sam itching for her to get specific, "Your brother has improved vastly in the last three years. He achieved his GED last summer. He is more stable and happier now, I am confident to say. However, Mr. Winchester… Sam, Dean is institutionalized. He clings to routine and becomes distressed if it varies. Dean has his own personal schedule annotated in his own hand. He is a sweet kind man, well loved and popular with his fellow residents."

Sam tried to reconcile this image with the shy but brave streetwise kid who had raised him.

"I am sorry for the breach of protocol that allowed the situation with Caleb Woodsman to develop under our noses. I assure you we do not tolerate any staff member forming an inappropriate attachment to our residents."

Sam licked his lips, "Are you telling me this Caleb assaulted my brother?"

"No, Sam, not in the way you may be imagining," Layla sighed, "There are issues of informed consent by psychiatric patients. Perhaps it could be said that a staff member could take advantage of a trusting patient."

"Did he hurt Dean?" Sam had pondered this amid all his other anxieties since he overheard Bobby and John. His fingers dug into his thighs.

"There was a close attachment. Caleb Woodsman was a janitor who covered the psychiatric wing and had access to Dean's room. I understand that he struck up a friendship with your brother. Mr. Woodsman claimed Dean spoke with him and wished to leave the hospital with him." Dr Rourke paused to shuffle the papers, "It is our regret that their relationship took on a physical aspect."

"Maybe Dean did want to leave here with someone who cared for him?" Sam challenged.

Both women nodded. Naomi answered, "We have considered Dean a candidate for our re-integration program, but he would need a support network which has been unavailable up to now. Mr. Woodsman was not genuine in his promises to Dean. He is a married man with a family, a fact he did not share."

Sam was glad the dickass was gone. He didn't want to be arrested for assault.

"Would you like to see your brother?" Layla asked checking her notes, "He should be in the rec room. He had group earlier and will move to the dining room at twelve for lunch."

Sam agreed enthusiastically. Naomi promised to speak with him again and passed him over to Layla. They walked side by side across to the hospital where Sam had to sign in again and cleanse his hands from a gel dispenser. Layla used her ID to enter the restricted area and led Sam into an elevator. "I think it would be best if you saw Dean before you reunite."

"Why?" Sam furrowed his brow.

"My opinion is that you need to see your brother and have your own response before you meet." Layla laid a hand on his lower arm and looked up at him, "I understand you are nineteen, and you were only a boy when your brother entered the care system."

"I just want to see Dean," Sam bit his lip. They were alone in the confined box. He admitted, "A part of me will not believe he is alive until I see him with my own eyes."

"I understand," Layla responded in a well practiced tone, but Sam believed she was genuine. "Follow me."

They walked by a male nurse and two patients snickering about something in the corridor. Layla led him through a narrow door into a plain room barely wider than its entry. Two metal chairs sat under a shelf which ran below a plate glass window. A well-thumbed John Grisham novel sat splayed open on the surface. "Double mirror," the psychiatrist explained redundantly.

Five guys occupied the recreation room. Two in jeans and soft sweatshirts played chess. Another two in casual gear watched a high mounted TV which was out of Sam's range of view. Separate to the others, in the far corner at a table under the window, fiddling with the innards of a transistor radio, was Dean.

Sam's mouth opened and closed of its own volition. His heart rose up as if trying to connect to his brain. A hand reached out and his finger pads tipped the two-way glass. Dean was concentrating, his pink tongue tipping between his parted lips. He had lost the teenage roundness to his features. Sam narrowed his eyes drinking in the sight of his long thought deceased brother. There was a thin white scar traversing Dean's right cheekbone, where his freckles stood out against his pale skin. Dean's short cropped hair was a definite brown, with no sign of the sun bleached streaks of a boy who reveled in the outdoors. His wrists were covered with wide black man-bracelet style cuffs, to hide his scars Sam supposed. He wore a plain white tee above green scrubs pants and hospital slippers. The sight was heart wrenching. It was heart breaking too, as Sam took in that Dean was almost twenty four had this had been his life since he was only seventeen.

"Dr Rourke, why isn't Dean in, you know, normal clothes?"

"Family and friends bring personal items for our residents." She answered kindly, "Dean has some goodwill donated items for outdoor use but he rarely ventures from the ward."

"He is confined here?" Sam growled.

"No you misunderstand. Dean has full privileges. He goes across to the school for classes and if a volunteer visitor takes him for a turn around the grounds he will go, but he rarely takes the initiative to leave the ward." The doctor sighed, "We are working on this reluctance, but I understand Dean was punished severely for attempted escapes."

In the room a nurse entered and announced lunch. She approached Dean and patted him on the shoulder. Dean raised his head and smiled. He gathered together his project and put it and his tools into a cardboard box. Sam got another jolt when Dean began to leave the room. His brother's head dropped and he shuffled his feet like an old man, slowly, careful with his box, making his way across the tiled floor. Sam staggered back hitting the wall behind him. The impact of how profoundly different Dean was impacted him like a battering ram on his sternum.

"Come see our dining room," Layla said. Taking pity on the blinking teenager she smiled encouragingly.

Sam muttered a question about there being spying mirrors in every room. Layla laughed and told him they would watch from the kitchen area. There was capacity for sixteen patients but they currently had twelve men in their care. Two were not well enough to come for meals. The dining room was another revelation. Instead of a slop-on-trays clinical bleak space, it had pink and beige walls, round tables with wipe down floral cloths, and a hofbrau style carvery station with a smiling chef-hatted server ready for the young men to arrive. Sam and Layla stood around the corner of the L-shaped room in the screened off food preparation area. She nudged him when Dean appeared following one of the men who had been snickering in the hall. The first guy loaded his tray with Mac'n'cheese over the other choice of the day.

"Usual Dean?" The server asked.

Dean smiled shyly and nodded.

The man leaned under the counter and produced a tray covered in shrink wrap with _DEAN_ clearly written on a large sticker.

Dean winked his thanks and proceeded to the vacant table closest to the window.

"Dean has a white bread sandwich with butter, chicken and a scrape of mayo. A portion of applesauce and a sweetened yogurt with a plain cookie."

"Huh?"

"Every day." Layla expanded, "He eats oatmeal, wholegrain toast, strawberry jelly and a decaffeinated coffee at breakfast. On Sunday he takes the pancakes. We attempt to balance Dean's diet with his evening meal, but we supplement daily with vitamins."

The enormity of Dean's issues versus his miniscule world of routines and confined spaces clashed in Sam's understanding. He looked wordlessly at Layla. She chuckled in response, "Expressive faces must be a familial inheritance. It is overwhelming. You are not the first family member to seek out one of our residents. Come with me, I'll treat you to your own sandwich at the staff and visitor café. Our boys on the integration program run it as a business. I'd like you to meet with Deacon, our resident social worker. Dean likes to read in the afternoons. I suggest we visit him in his own room."

Sam agreed. The continued wait until he touched Dean and held him and spoke to him seemed endless, but he knew he needed a minute. Layla patted his arm again as they left the psychiatric ward. She smiled tenderly, "Dean is special. He needs and deserves to have you back in his life, and we are here to support that."

Sam muttered his thanks as the gravel crunched under his boots. The reminder of soft thin slippers on his brother's feet jarred his equilibrium and clenched his solar plexus with a jumble of feelings. Layla stopped to speak with a scruffy guy holding a well wrapped baby. Chuck introduced himself and baby girl Gossamer. Sam sucked a breath at the awful baby name and complemented the infant for her cuteness. While Chuck asked Layla about changing his attendance at an out-patient group, Sam whipped out his phone and texted Nick.

_I found him. It's hard._

His phone beeped almost straight away. _Call me when you can. Stay strong. I believe in you. N. _

Sam expelled a long visible breath into the icy air and took the offered reassurance to heart as he trailed behind Layla, Chuck and his baby.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A/N: Reunion in next chapter.  
I have a heavy RL work schedule coming up but am aiming for a midweek update. Thank you guys for reading.


	3. Two

++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_A chair was wedged under the bedroom door handle. Sam was not coming out or letting his stupid father in. By default this was Sam's room but to the teenager it still felt like his and Dean's reserved space at Uncle Bobby's. Sam removed the now slushy frozen peas' bag from his cheek. He hated his Dad, hated being dragged from state to state, hated his dumb life. Sam had his only photos of Dean spread across his lap. He didn't have many. John wasn't sentimental like that. Sam supposed the all day drinking session was John's way of coping with Dean's 21__st__ birthday. He lifted one photo that had caught Dean's grin side-face. It was a group shot, one of a rare few Sam possessed from when the boys had quickly formed friendships in scattered towns and Sam would plead with their new acquaintances for copies. He skimmed over one taken by Sydney of Dean, Aaron and Sam on the steps of the Bass front porch. He tilted his head with a tender smile, pawing the one of little Dean posed with a small green satchel on his first day of pre-school. The final print had untrimmed edges, as if it was a rough copy or a sample for a larger family portrait that would have hung above the mantelpiece or greeted visitors in the hall of the house in Lawrence. Mary sat on a blue velvet photographer's sofa with a cloud of hair around her shoulders. Dean stood in front with his hand touching his mother's lap and the hem of baby Sam's christening robes. John was suited and rigid behind the seat, his hand resting on Mary's shoulder. Both parents looked proudly at the lens. Sam hissed a feline disgust noise at the representation of his younger father. But his heart softened as he took in how charming Dean was as a four year old._

_"Happy birthday bro," Sam whispered._

_"Sam?" Bobby's shout ascended from the base of the stairs. "Your Dad has gone out, the damned fool. Will you come down for stew?"_

_Sam slammed the door and then felt guilty for taking his frustrations out on Bobby's house. He thumped down the stairs like a morose elephant and slouched into the kitchen. Bobby was leaning against the refrigerator. He uncapped a beer and offered it to Sam. _

_"You know I'm 16, right?" Sam checked, too suspicious to grab hold of the cold bottle for fear it was a game and it would be jerked out of his reach._

_"You deserve one darned beer," Bobby rumbled and pressed the condensation coated Miller into Sam's hand, "I bet Dean woulda sneaked you one tonight."_

_"I only asked if there was a grave in Batesville," Sam sucked back a quiver in his voice and tightened his hold on the bottle, "I know there's one in Lawrence for Mom. Shouldn't there be one for Dean, Uncle Bobby? Somewhere I could leave flowers or a rock?"_

_"I dunno, son," Bobby pulled out a chair and gestured for Sam to join him. He doled out ladles of juicy beef stew as Sam sagged into the seat, "How about we go down to the park tomorrow and release one of those birthday balloons?"_

_Sam chuckled despite his ill humor. He tried to picture Bobby with a shiny helium balloon. "We could put a birthday message in a bottle, head over to Falls Park and send it down stream?"_

_"I like it. Why don'tya use your first beer bottle? That's a milestone too." Bobby was hit by a full steam hugging Sam, "Hey, watch it, don't dislodge the cap."_

_"Sorry." Sam grinned as he retook his seat. He filled his mouth with a huge spoon of stew. His cheek ached when he chewed but he didn't think he had anything worse than a contusion._

_"I have another question."_

_"Yep," Sam said swallowing quickly._

_"You know your brother was a carrier. That sort of thing can run in families. You've been tested right?"_

_Sam chewed his bottom lip and gave a barely there headshake. _

_"Uh-huh, figures. What do you think Sam? Will we take a ride to the medical centre tomorrow, in Dean's memory?"_

_Sam nodded. Luckily Bobby thought to change the subject. They drank their beers, watched TV, and listened in vain for John's return. Stories were told about the boys' antics when they stayed at the salvage yard down through the years._

_The probing by a motherly family physician, the excruciating questionnaire about cyclical lower stomach aches, discharges, and nipple sensitivity, followed by a pee-on-a-stick hormone test produced the result Sam was expecting. He was a carrier. The blood test results and a follow-up ultrasound would later confirm he was a viable carrier like Dean. When they left the clinic Bobby clapped a hand on his shoulder and promised without prompting that John would not hear it from him. They went to the mall where Sam bought a slim 21__st__ birthday card with a rock guitar front. He kept his message of loss, love and memory short but was proud to add his news. Bobby sealed the bottle with a cork and string. Sam held it to his chest for a heartbeat before releasing it into the white water of the Big Sioux River._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Are you a carrier Sam? It runs in families." Deacon asked across the table of the care home's café.

Sam could hear an echo of Bobby's voice behind the social worker's words. It took him back to the day he had been so proud to have it officially confirmed that he was the same as Dean had been, and how very scared he was that if John found out he'd dump his ass in some skivvy motel in Nowheresville.

"Yes I am," Sam said meeting the brown haired older man's eye.

"A viable one?"

Sam winced at the blunt question but didn't lower his gaze, "Yes."

"And you are attending university?"

Sam bristled but Deacon didn't project an old-fashioned tied-to-the-kitchen-sink attitude about carriers, rather he seemed focused on extracting information from the student.

"Stanford," Sam said before biting a sizeable chunk off his sandwich.

"A great college," Layla commented.

Deacon took a long drink of his coffee. Sam followed suit, burning the roof of his mouth with the hot beverage. While he topped up the mug with cold milk, Deacon asked a further question, "Do you live in campus accommodation?"

Sam shook his head and took one of the salted chips that came with his lunch choice, "A house share, real close by. I share with two girls and two guys. We were all totally allergic to dorm life and found a real sweet place together."

The older man hummed, "And what about your income, Sam?"

Sam raised his brows. Was the guy serious? Was he trying to be cool with his worn plaid and frayed jeans? Trying to fit in with the young residents? Why the interrogation? Sam wanted to tell him to put a sock in it, but the dude was Dean's social worker. Playing nice, Sam answered, "I have a scholarship and I wait tables at a restaurant in Menlo Park. I get by."

That elicited another hum. "What about your father? Where does he fit in?"

That was enough. Sam dropped all pretence of being affable. "He doesn't."

Layla picked up on the sub-zero temperature drop. "Well, I think Dean should be back in his room. Why don't we head in that direction, Sam?"

Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded his assent, while Deacon cleared their leavings onto one tray. "You know," The social worker said as if he had just thought of it. "I think I'll come with."

"Are you free?" Layla asked surprised.

"My family group isn't until later." The man shrugged.

A brisk walk in the chill wind took them back to the hospital building. Sam's clothes felt scratchy and ill-fitting. He went so far as a subtle downward glance to make sure he hadn't done up his coat in the wrong button holes. Deacon trailed behind making Sam's skin shift around him, like a snake molt. Layla had to repeat a statement before it penetrated Sam's glazed over mind.

"Normally Dean spends Thursday afternoon in the school art room, but the building is closed until classes recommence next week."

Sam made a noise of acknowledgment as they reached the reception desk. He rubbed his hands together for warmth while Layla spoke with a nurse on duty. In the elevator Sam discovered that being weak at the knees was an actual physical and unpleasant sensation. His breath caught and he thought for an instance that his chips and sandwich might make a reappearance, when his brain unhelpfully supplied him with the image of Dean turning his back on him, unforgiving and sore with betrayal. It didn't matter. Even if Dean pushed him bodily out of his room, he wasn't retreating now.

This time the elevator terminated on the top floor, opening out to a vacant nurses' station. Layla slipped her ID card out of its lanyard and used it to access a white and silver grey tiled corridor. Some doors were closed. Open ones revealed lived in spaces. The final door on the left was ajar. It was on the side of the wing which looked over the woods beyond rather than faced back towards the driveway and gates. Layla tipped Sam's elbow and gave him a smile. Sam blew a long exhalation and gave a shaky nod in reply. She raised her fist and rapped on the door.

"Dean? I've brought you a visitor."

There was the sound of metal chair legs being scraped back.

Layla's gentle pressure swung the door inwards. Deacon hovered in the hall outside. Sam's eyes tracked along the tiled floor, along the length of Dean's bed, to a desk that slotted under the barred window. The disassembled radio, a low pile of sketch pads, and a variegated spider plant sat on the pine desk. A foldaway metal chair had been pushed to the side. Dean stood to attention, wary and suspicious.

Every word that ever existed dried up on Sam's tongue. He didn't know what to say to his brother. Hey Dean, just didn't seem to cut it. He stepped into the room while Layla made her way to Dean's side, as if the smaller doctor was there to catch her patient if he fainted or went catatonic with shock.

The two Winchesters stared at each other. Sam appreciated being closer to Dean, taking in the individual freckles, the way he unconsciously rubbed his left thumb and pointer finger together in circles, and the uncertain smile of greeting. Another pace took Sam into the centre of the small room. He simultaneously comprehended two facts; he had an inch on Dean's height, and his brother had no idea who he was. However there was hesitancy in Dean's gaze, as if he felt he should be able to place this newcomer.

Sam gulped and gave a ragged breath. Layla opened her mouth but Sam shot her a look. It would be wrong, as in a paradigm shift of reality level of wrongness, if a doctor had to introduce him to his big brother. Sam chewed on the fleshy inside of his bottom lip. He shifted his eyes to the walls of Dean's room. There was not a slither of the paintwork showing. Every available inch was covered with sketches, cards, and postcards. Sam turned from his hip to get a better view. The pencil sketches depicted leaves, trees, small wildflowers, and bark rubbings but there were some faces and memory pieces. Sam reached out to touch a rear perspective of two boys bearing school bags on a sidewalk. Sam guessed it was either Kennewick or Aberdeen when he was six and Dean was ten.

A deep grunt of protest issued from Dean.

Without turning Sam grinned and automatically teased, "Don't you make the 'last bowl of Frosted Flakes' noise at me Dee. I'm only admiring is all."

Suddenly Sam's shoulder and chest were impacted by a full body diving Dean. Arms wrapped around him, rubbed down his back, squeezed his ribs with a death grip and all the time Dean's hoarse gasps of "Sam, Sammy" caused his younger brother's waterworks to open the floodgates.

When some unquantifiable portion of time later they pulled apart, Dean raised his fingers to Sam's cheek. Sam thought his tears were to be wiped away but a single finger pressed in near his nose, on his small mole, Sam realized.

"'S you," Dean blinked slowly then caught Sam's arm tight.

"Yeah," Sam pulled Dean in for his own initiated hug. Over Dean's shoulder he could see Layla's wide eyes, no doubt due to the speaking thing, but Dean had always saved a few utterances for his trusted family and friends, but especially, sometimes exclusively more lengthy speech for Sam.

"'S Dad?" Dean made a throat slitting gesture with his finger.

"God no." Sam huffed, "Though I coulda done him in when I found out. I mean, he told me…" It was difficult to say it now to his living breathing warm and real brother, "Told me you were dead, Dean. I thought you'd died, way back, in Batesville."

This time Dean did find a tissue and reached up to wipe Sam's cheeks, like all those times when he'd cried over bullies or being moved again.

"I didn't know you were here. I would have come. I would have done anything, but I didn't know." Sam prayed that Dean believed him. "I missed you, so bad Dean."

Dean double tapped over his own heart.

Sam sniffled and nodded his understanding that Dean had mourned the loss of Sam too. Dean took his hand and guided him over to sit on the bed with him. He raised his eyes in a piercing dare to Layla.

"We don't allow visitors on the beds," She explained, "or in the bedrooms normally, but I think we'll make an exception."

Dean quirked a half smile at her, then stroked Sam's hair before rubbing at his own scalp.

"What Dee? My hair is too long? Or are you pissed that I'm taller and still growing?" Sam laughed.

Dean nodded to both suggestions.

"The mane stays," Sam chuckled, "We could get you those platform shoes that Tom Cruise wears."

That one earned him an elbow in the gut. No pain was sweeter.

"You're looking great, bro. I mean it. They told me, y'know, before they'd let me up here, that you had it rough." Sam bit his lip.

Dean set his face to impenetrable but gave a short nod of confirmation. He self-consciously wrapped his right hand around the scar covering band on his left wrist. Sam wasn't going to probe him for details. Breathing in and out and having his brother beside him doing the same thing didn't seem real. Sam had dreamed of this moment, maybe not in a care home psychiatric unit but this simple reality of being in Dean's presence.

"Huh," Sam knocked their shoulders together, "What you doing to the radio? Alien contact receiver?"

Dean gave a wheezing laugh. He went to the desk with short steps and brought back the outer casing. A nail picked white sticker had Chuck Shurley written on it.

"Oh, you're fixing it. How's that working out?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Then his expression changed into a grin. He extended a hand and Sam took it. Layla moved out of the way as Dean showed him his desk with a variety of artists' pencils and open drawing pads. He began to close the books and put them into the box that had held the radio. Then the pencils went in. He crouched down and picked up another couple from beneath the desk.

"What are you doing Dean?" Layla asked, "If you give all that to Sam, you'll have nothing to work on."

Dean snorted at her, "'m going."

Sam did a double blink. His stomach dropped. Did Dean really just say that?

"Going with Sammy."

Sam guessed that clarified it.

"Wait," Layla pleaded, "Sam has come to visit you. He is not here to collect you."

"Blowing this joint, right Sammy," Dean hissed at his brother, his infrequently used voice box warming up nicely becoming less hoarse with each utterance.

"Yeah, right." Sam immediately agreed. If Dean wanted to leave, and who would blame him, then Sam would do everything in his power to make that happen. He just wasn't sure what he could do about it. He should have thought of this. Of course Dean would presume that Sam was here to collect him. The way they grew up, blowing out of towns when John's work ended or he ran up debts, being scooped out of hospitals and the reach of the CPS, no wonder Dean thought he was being released or, Sam cringed to think, rescued.

Dean pulled a single sheet of blank paper that had a corner held down by the spider plant's drainage saucer. He produced a pen.

01.02.2003  
Dear Director Godwin,  
I want to leave ACIC now.  
Dean Winchester

He handed the paper to Layla, who cleared her throat, "I don't think now, as meaning this current hour will be possible Dean, I'm sorry."

She was faced with an arms crossed glaring Dean.

"I will take your discharge request to the director," She promised.

Dean made a dismissive sweeping gesture telling her to get to it. Layla's professional mask slipped, "I am very happy for you, Dean. Your brother has come a long way to see you. And you have spoken more than…." She sighed, "I promise we will do everything to help you both."

With that she was gone but Deacon lounged against the door frame. Sam supposed they were being cautious of Dean's mental state.

"Dean's entitled to private time with you," Deacon said as if he had read Sam's mind, "and the note he wrote qualifies as a request for discharge."

"What does that actually mean?" Sam asked.

Dean plunked back down on the bed and pointed at the social worker with a smug look.

"Yes Bright Spark," Deacon curled his lip wryly, "My social interaction and patients' rights groups are where you learned about the right to apply in writing to leave as a voluntary resident under Dr Rourke's care."

"So Dean can leave?" Sam was trying to keep up with the pace of everything. "He could walk out of here with me."

Dean trembled as if ready to jump up and shoot out of the room. Sam sat as close as he could to his brother, their thighs meeting, and then placed a hand over his to steady him.

"Officially the Director has 72 hours to find a judge for a court order to remand Dean here as an involuntary patient." At Dean's growl Deacon raised a hand, "But she would have to show he is a danger to others, to himself, or incapable of maintaining a standard of living outside of care. The first two are not under consideration, and the last with a family member back on the scene…" Deacon did not finish the sentence.

Sam sucked a breath. He looked at the hopeful light in Dean's forest green eyes. He couldn't think of his brother as a burden, but he had a feeling his life was about to profoundly change. Leaving Dean behind was not an option, even if a 72 hour wait meant he would be late back at college, there was no way he was driving away from Eureka Springs without Dean in the shotgun seat. That reminded him, "Remember the Impala, Dean?"

His brother beamed and pointed a few pictures that featured the beloved vehicle. In one a cartoon Impala had eyes for headlights and a toothy grin for the fender and seemed to be facing down or hanging with one of Bobby's beat up ford sedans.

"I was at Bobby's when I found out, yesterday." Sam imparted, "Bobby's just about fit to flay Dad alive. There was a letter from here for Dad," Sam didn't want to upset Dean at their reunion by mentioning the janitor, "Y'know how we use Bobby's for a mailing address. Bobby says if we need anything to call him, and I know he'd love to see you, even if he wouldn't say."

Dean licked his lips in preparation for speech. Sam shut up.

Dean cleared his throat and spoke low for Sam's ears only, in a way that brought Sam back seven years, "You work with Dad or Bobby?"

"Naw, me a mechanic?" Sam roared with laughter making Dean huff in amusement. Sam was filled with gooey warm cookie dough. "Geez Dean remember when he had all three of us work all night on that vintage Cadillac and I almost blew up the engine?"

Dean wrinkled his nose and held up two hands with his thumbs turned in.

"Yeah, I know I was eight perched on the standing steps with my head in the engine and my tushy in the air." Both brothers shared a smile at the image. "I'm at college. Stanford in Cali."

Dean blinked and gaped. He rubbed his fingers together in a money gesture.

"Scholarship. I kept doing my schoolwork. Did it for you, y'know, 'cause you always made me. I don't think Dad knew if I had a 2.0 grade average or a 4.0. Cali is great. I like it there. Might want to stay after, but I'm only a sophomore."

Dean furrowed his brow and made a mental calculation.

"I skipped a grade." Sam supplied. "In Sioux Falls. Jumped from 9th to 10th. Hey, I heard you got your GED."

Dean's cheeks flushed as he nodded.

"Well done. Geez if I was in hospital for years I don't know if I could have done that." Sam said full of admiration for what his brother had overcome.

Dean shook his head, "Not you. No. Couldn't if you. No."

"Oh crap Dean, my big mouth." Sam pulled his brother by the shoulders so he could hold on to him. Dean quaked under his embrace. "I'm sorry Dee. I know you had it rough. Feel free to hit me if I fuck up like that."

Dean slapped his back lightly, making Sam snort.

Deacon tapped on the door gaining their attention. "I need to get to my group. You can stay Sam but perhaps you would like come to Naomi about Dean's request."

The tone of the suggestion implied Sam should do that. Dean nodded his agreement. "Tell her I'm going." He whispered with Big Brother authority into Sam's ear.

Sam promised he'd be back and Dean gripped him in a final hug. The younger Winchester didn't like leaving his brother in the room but a glance over his shoulder caught Dean easing one of his pieces off the wall. He guessed Dean was packing up.

Aiden wasn't at the front desk when Sam returned. There was a slim woman in her forties who looked like she'd never leave a diaper in her workspace. She asked him to wait, so Sam retook his chair from the morning and continued his exploration of male-carrier contraceptives, STDs, and adoption pamphlets. The wait was beneficial as it gave him time to process. He was on a high. The endorphins and serotonin from being in his brother's presence made him buoyant with optimism and plain honest-to-pie joy. That dastardly small voice in his head was piping up with questions on the practicalities of bringing his damaged brother back to Palo Alto. But now that Sam had spoken, truly conversed with Dean, he didn't think his problems seemed that insurmountable. It was true that they had been in Dean's own private space, but Sam could cater for oatmeal breakfasts, sketch pads and helping his brother out with strangers. The small voice supplied that everyone Sam knew would be a stranger to Dean, that Sam was a full time student, and that Dean needed more support than that. However along with the rising dread of how he could fuck everything up, came another sweeter disbelief that after all the intervening years Dean had instinctively trusted him with his life and wanted to be taken home by a baby brother who had only been a snot-nosed 6th grader when they were forced apart. It made something glow inside and helped feed a resolve not to let Dean down and a fierce need to protect his brother. He would make this happen. If they said Dean couldn't go today then Sam would wait during the 72 hour decision period and be damned late for the new semester. If they went to a judge and forced Dean to stay, Sam would travel to Stanford, get his shit sorted and a gender-rights lawyer and come back to challenge the decision.

"Mr. Winchester?"

This time Naomi's smile of greeting did not reach her eyes. She spoke with him to the side of the reception desk.

"Dean has requested discharge," Her voice was grim with a side of accusation, "Have you thought this through?"

Sam thought her question was ridiculous. How could he have thought through a possibility that he had not considered until Dean decided it? "No but can you blame him, after what you told me?"

Naomi squared her shoulders, "This is a good place and a safe one. Ultimately we wish all our residents to find a stable and fulfilling life beyond their time here."

"Well, Ms Godwin, Dean wants to leave," Sam said with a determination that didn't match his inner turmoil.

"Here," Naomi passed over two slim books and a copy of her report. Sam flipped them round, reading the titles; ACIC residents' handbook and Caring for your Relative at Home. "Read those. Have you a motel?"

"No, I, huh, checked out." Sam had intended on getting miles under his belt once he left Eureka Springs.

"Michelle, please the key to cabin seven, is it back?" Naomi passed the Yale key with its heavy wooden toggle to Sam, "You may stay tonight. Evening meal is served at the café from six until seven, after the hospital meal hour. Dean's Petition of Discharge Meeting is at 8.30AM. If Dean does not object, you are expected to attend."

"Can I head back to Dean now?" Sam asked a little stunned at the pace of events.

Naomi gave him a regretful eye, "Visitors are not permitted on weekday evenings and my dear, I think you would both benefit from space to reflect."

Sam chaffed at the rule but gave a curt nod of agreement. He collected his duffel from the Impala and jogged down the tree lined footpath that wound circuitously along the curved line of cabins. After the third log cabin there was the crunch of footsteps behind him. Sam swung round.

Chuck, minus baby, took a pace back and held up his hands in surrender. "Hey dude? So you met Dean?"

Sam squinted in the low light unable to read if the question was curiosity, snooping or concern.

"I roomed next to him." Chuck spoke at a rapid pace, "He is fixing my radio. Gossie sleeps better with music."

"The radio is still broken." Sam supplied suspiciously.

"Hell Man, I wasn't looking for an update," Chuck leaned forward, "Aiden said that Dean wants to leave?"

Sam nodded wondering if they were the gossip of the hour but he charitably considered that there might be little else to brighten the residents' days.

"Wowser." Chuck huffed and blew a raspberry, "Never thought I'd see the day. I mean I got stuck in psych with my OCD and couldn't take my meds with Gossie on board, but Dean leaving? Wow."

"You don't approve?" Sam challenged.

"No Man, I approve. Hell every religious guy here prays for Dean and every atheist hopes for him. He's cool is Dean, y'know. I wasn't here back then," Chuck's voice dropped, "but Aiden was and Tom and Yannick who left before Thanksgiving, and Dean is a fighter, a survivor. He'll make it."

"Thanks," Sam clapped the smaller guy on the shoulder, "We have to get the higher ups to let him go first."

Chuck snorted, "I'd like to see them try to stop him."

Sam agreed remembering times when Dean stood up to bigger and prejudiced bullies who mocked him for his mutism or targeted Sam for his nerdiness.

Chuck left him at the steps to Cabin Seven with an offer to knock on his place two doors back if he needed anything.

Someone had turned the heating on in the cabin, probably in the previous hour as the compact home was not chilled but hadn't reached a snug room temperature yet. The furnishings were utilitarian but Sam could visualize how with personal touches the log cabins would make cozy homes. The main living area had three doors in the far wall. Pushing Goldilocks similarities out of his head, Sam explored a reasonably sized bathroom, a tiny nursery with a bare cot and changing table, and a queen bedroom overlooking the sloping down treetops. The person who'd switched on the heat had left folded bed linens and towels for Sam. With an ingrained routine from living on the road with a Vietnam vet, Sam dressed the bed with military corners. That done he checked out the kitchen cupboards which were empty save for a powdered creamer and coffee can. He sank into the flock patterned sofa and watched Dick Van Dyke reveal that Community General's new mailman was a murderer. He tuned out and stared at the wooden slated ceiling, tilting his head back to rest his neck on the sofa frame. He indulged in a long sigh. His phone buzzed.

_U OK. Jess_

Sam hit the call button. "Hey Jessie-bear."

"How's my favorite beanpole?"

"Okey dokey," Sam lied with false cheer.

"For real? Sam?" Jess laid on the skepticism.

Words poured out, "Dean wants to come home with me, like to our house, like to live, like permanently."

"I'll move the airbed we picked up in IKEA for my sis's visit into your room."

Sam sucked a breath at the sudden and complete acceptance of his and Dean's situation. "The others….?" He began.

"I'll crack their heads together if they say a word, but honestly Sam, we are your friends and Dean is your blood, your family who was dead yesterday. We are all rooting for you guys."

Tears threatened to brim over, "God Jess, I won't be able to scrape enough for two parts of a six way rent split."

"Are you trying to find reasons to object?" Jess sounded insulted.

"No Ma'am." Sam gasped a sole chuckle.

"Can't wait to meet him." Jess added before they ended the call.

With the phone in his hand Sam contacted Nick, who was full of questions about how Sam was handling the pressure and the stress. After reassuring him, perhaps not completely successfully, Sam filled Nick in on his conversation with Jess and the scheduled discharge meeting.

"You know Luther?"

"The long faced poor tipping misery gut who hovers over Ruby's table?" Sam checked.

Nick laughed, "That's him. He's actually not a bad guy. He's a gender rights lawyer."

"Him?" Sam couldn't picture the dour customer standing up for anyone's rights.

"And a good one. If you have any queries, let me know and we'll reap all the unvolunteered tips in legal advice."

"Karma." Sam huffed.

"Instant karma, the best kind." Nick joked.

Left alone with the KARK newscast Sam eschewed the walk back to the main building, instead he consumed his driving snacks and made coffee. He tried to watch some Van Damme movie but gave up. Then he opened Naomi's report but couldn't get beyond the preamble which recommended prosecutions for assault, abuse and negligence. He skimmed the caring in your home brochure but much of it was about newborn baby needs and accessibility for the physically disabled. He did take note of information on welfare entitlements and wondered what Dean qualified for. The final booklet made him snort in disgust. The resident's charter must have been packed in a box and stored in a dusty attic during Dean's early years there. It outlined rights to clothing, safety, nutrition, religious freedom, high standard of care, hygiene, personal belongings, privacy, visitors, communication including phone calls and free mail, medical, dental, education, vocational training, and to raise a grievance. There was also the right to refuse to participate in work and to be paid union rates for any work/training undertaken. There was a single page on the procedure for leaving ACIC and within that a paragraph on psychiatric discharge. Sam was dismayed to find that 72 hours was in fact three working days, excluding Saturday and Sunday, so they could hold Dean until Tuesday while they decided on his petition. The home could release him ASAP, let the 72 hours run out and Dean could walk, or apply for an involuntary hold. In addition if Dean was to leave, ACIC committed to liaising with social services and federal agencies.

The sound of a phone ringing jerked Sam's nose out of the handbook. He located an old style black house phone. There was breathing on the other end of the line. Sam waited knowing for sure this was no prank call.

"Night Sammy."

"Goodnight Dean. Sleep well." Sam responded before a click signaled the end of that conversation. He floated through his nightly routine and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out.

Sam was showered and shaved and at the vacant front desk at 8.15AM. Deacon appeared from an office with a morning greeting. "Will we go get Dean?"

Ten minutes later Sam stood in a cleared down hospital room. Dean had removed every memento from his walls. He had purloined two corrugated cardboard vegetable crates from the kitchen and they were filled with the sum of his belongings. The spider plant occupied the box that previously held Chuck's radio. He was ready to go. Sam took in that Dean was wearing all the clothes. He had desert boots, jeans, a brown Henley with a black tee peaking behind the buttons, a grey overshirt, a denim jacket, navy scarf and matching beanie. A glance into a crate revealed a single heavy sweater with a paint splash, some underclothes and pajamas.

At Sam's pursed lips and wide eyes Dean protested a mumbled, "'S cold."

Sam was abashed. Of course Dean would be cold after the unnatural heat of an enclosed ward when outside the paths were fringed with ice.

The meeting took place in an adjunct to Naomi's office. The Director, Layla, Deacon, Michelle, and an imposing senior nurse by the name of Donnie Finnerman took their seats at a conference table that still held jotted sheets from the previous morning's social committee meeting. Dean shot Donnie dirty looks. The nurse remained blank faced but Sam wasn't comfortable.

"Why is Nurse Finnerman here?" Sam asked on his brother's behalf.

"Donnie is a valued member of the mental health team." Naomi supplied.

Dean wrinkled his nose as if he smelled dog crap.

"Dean doesn't seem to rate you," Sam said pointedly to the straight backed man with his shaved head glowing under the strip lighting.

Naomi sighed, "Donnie has been with ACIC for a decade. He was one of the whistleblowers, who railed against the old regime."

Dean shot Sam a significant look of derision. Sam pushed his chair closer to Dean partially blocking his view of the nurse. Dean's muscle tension relaxed back a notch.

"Shall we commence?" Naomi did not wait for an answer. "Present are Naomi Godwin Director, Layla Rourke, Resident Psychiatrist, Richard Deacon, Senior social worker, Donald Finnerman, Senior nurse, Dean Winchester, petitioner, Sam Winchester, family member and Michelle Hussein, notetaker.

Deacon spoke next, "Dean has been a patient at ACIC since May 1996. Until eighteen he was a ward of state and involuntary admission due to his suicide risk. At his status review in the year 2000 Dean was reclassified as a voluntary resident indigent regarding insurance. The hospital is in receipt of his supplemental security income. Dean has submitted a 3-day letter requesting immediate discharge."

Throughout Dean's face remained blank but his eye lid twitched. Sam turned his attention to Layla who outlined Dean's confused initial diagnosis and her assessment of his generalized anxiety disorder with selective mutism. She described him as sheltered and naive and was concerned about his vulnerability outside the care home.

That earned a loud snort from the petitioner.

"Dean," Naomi placed her clasped hands on the table, "We have many concerns for your wellbeing. For instance, Sam, we are apprehensive about how will Dean cope with house sharing and not having the privacy of his own bedroom?"

Dean swung his finger between him and Sam and made a sleeping pose with his palms pressed together under his tilted ear. Sam was quick to interpret verbally about how they always shared until Dean was taken away. Dean picked up on the forced tinge to the words 'taken away' and leaned over to pat Sam's leg with a sad smile that asked if he was OK.

"I'm good, Dean. It's fine." He answered.

Layla was the one who spoke for the others' stunned expressions, "I think you could say that Sam is fluent in Dean."

Both Winchesters beamed at her.

She fixed Dean with narrow eyes, "You know if you go, then there won't be a thrice daily medication distribution. You'd have to commit to continuing your scripts."

"What meds?" Sam asked as Dean nodded his agreement.

"20mg of Citalopram taken in the morning. Blue band Penandrocol also before breakfast. A multivitamin and mineral with lunch. A light sleeping pill at evening call and Dean is administered Xanax when necessary." Donnie answered. "We dispense a month's supply to those discharged into the care of a family member and give a letter for the patient's new physician and case worker."

"What is Citaloprommie and I think I heard of Xanax?" Sam asked.

"Citalopram is for Dean's anxiety." Layla responded, "Xanax is for acute anxiety attacks. Penandrocol…"

"Yeah, I know. That's my brand of oral pill too," Sam cut in.

Dean gasped and pointed at his brother.

"Yeah, me too, bro." Sam huffed, "meant to tell you in different circumstances but we are two carrier peas in a pod."

Dean made a silent wow shape with his lips.

"I'll help Dean with his meds, we'll find a family physician in Palo Alto. Are you going to stop him from leaving?" Sam challenged.

Naomi answered, "Our concerns are valid. You are nineteen years old, a full time student, and I do not believe you have comprehended how much assistance and time you will need to provide to your brother. Previously institutionalized people are an 'at risk' group in society. Dean must be able to survive and thrive or be assisted to do so."

"I'll do it. I'll do anything." Sam wiped his nose with his arm. He hadn't realized he was becoming emotional.

"Sammy," Dean's voice steadied him.

Naomi continued with a smile, "I got in touch with Santa Clara county yesterday before their San Jose office closed. Michelle faxed Dean's applications for his food stamps entitlement and the release of his full SSI supplemental security income from February 1st. The ticket to work program will have an operational support manager or job coach to help him find his required minimum 12 hours gainful employment. Dean will keep his SSI money on sliding scale and his Medi-cal until he is at a sustainable gainful wage. A lot of this would have been done in ACIC if he was on our re-integration program. Santa Clara's carrier-at-risk case worker also runs the safe baby surrender program, he tells me Dean is entitled to Medi-Cal. The clinic is in San Jose but there is an outreach program linked to Stanford Teaching Hospital and we have faxed a request for Dean to be registered there. He will need to meet with his case worker and there will be a home visit to ensure Dean has a stable place of residence."

"I can go?" Dean checked.

"Yes Dean, you may go." Naomi's stern expression softened as she added, "but you will be missed."

Dean pulled Sam up into a celebratory hug. Sam's heart burst in his chest. Dean could leave. And they had helped set up all the stuff Sam had no clue about. He rounded the table shaking each person's hand. Michelle looked startled to be included.

"You stay in touch now Dean," Deacon said with a back clap for the older Winchester, "You know we don't like to lose track of our guys."

Dean nodded with a grin. Sam remembered the cards on Dean's wall and the pictures in Naomi's office.

Layla pulled Dean's outer sleeve, "No running straight for your brother's muscle car. There's folks here who'd like to wish you well." She added for Sam's ear, "I need to sign out Dean's meds for you and give you a copy of his normal routine to help you as Dean adjusts to his new life."

"You'll get good karma for this," Sam replied giving the slight blonde a squeeze.

Dean eye rolled him.

"Get used to the hippy dippy Dee, we are North Cali bound." Sam winked.

Dean's laughter was like a tonic. It filled Sam's soul and made his insides warm and toasty. The Winchester brothers were back together. Sam vowed nothing was going to beat them. He was finally and incredibly taking his big brother home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++

Author's note:  
My carrier social security entitlements are founded in internet research on California's system but obviously AU regarding details.

Next chapter will be posted on Sunday and will be from Dean's POV.

Thanks for all your follows, favs and reviews, and for reading.


	4. Three

_Dean hunched his shoulders and shuffled closer to the wall. He'd left the rec room after Kit had slammed his hand onto the table and scattered pieces of Chuck's obsessively arranged jigsaw. Kit was new, a street kid picked up by cops in Pine Bluff, high on a cocktail of methamphetamines. Nurse Brownlee confided her knowledge to Dean saying the new patient was going through severe withdrawal. The skinny blond had screamed about demons and evil eyed wookies until Brownlee and Finnerman came to restrain him. Dean slipped slowly and silently out of the room while the newer boys watched Finnerman get to exercise his moves and others focused on six-month-pregnant Chuck's distress. Dean fought back remembered feelings of Donnie Finnerman's cruel fingers tightening his old belt-to-chair restraint too much or administering tranqs to his butt via syringe. He had to retreat before he landed in Xanax territory, but now his room was being mopped out by the cute singing janitor. _

_"Yo, Dean." The buzz haired guy paused in his humming to gift a suggestive wink. "Still not a word of greeting for old Caleb?" _

_Dean felt a blush rise. The guy wasn't old, only a couple of years on Dean, he estimated. He fumbled with his fingers. This wasn't the distraction he'd sought but Caleb was chatty, friendly and kind of hot. He often joked with Dean and filled him in on events outside and happenings with the staff and residents inside._

_"Not even if I sneaked you a sachet of plant food for that blade leafed monstrosity that you keep as a pet?"_

_Dean huffed and made his head incline of gratitude._

_"De nada, man," Caleb wrung out the mop and gave the floor a final sweep, "So how come you vacated the party venue?"_

_Dean snapped his fingers with a grave look._

_"Uh huh. Someone went down. I see. Some dude's getting tough lovin'"_

_This time Dean's huff was one of derision. Caleb had no idea. He wasn't there long, hadn't been employed when Dean's mind was kept like fudge, they controlled every move he made and his body betrayed him in the simplest of tasks. He shook out his shoulders and arms like a dog emerging from a lake swim. Dr Rourke told him to shake off the negative weight of his befuddled memories._

_Caleb had resumed his solo performance with an off key rendition of Pink Floyd. At "We don't need no thought control" Dean snorted and croaked out "Really Dude?"_

_Caleb dropped the mop. It clattered to the floor startling Dean almost as much as the janitor was taken aback by Dean's rusty voice._

_"Shit yeah, poor song choice, my bad," Caleb smiled gingerly, "Hey now that we are on speaking terms and all, would you tell me something?"_

_"Sh-sh-shoot," Dean forced out. He liked it when the other man smiled._

_Caleb pointed to the well rubbed charcoal and pencil mixed A5 piece of Halloween 1991 with Dean and Sam as Starfleet officers. The reality had been Sam in a tight blue long sleeved tee and Dean in a deep red version. Dean had found some shiny silver iron-on patches in an 'any for a quarter' basket at the goodwill store and had cut them into Starfleet combadge shapes. He was proud of that drawing. It was monochrome but it captured Sam's awe at their simple costumes. Mr Donohue, the ACIC art teacher, gave him an A+ for it._

_Caleb's question made Dean laugh so much he grasped the janitor's bicep for support._

_"Kirk or Picard?"_

_"Kirk," Dean rasped._

_Caleb's dry calloused hand squeezed over Dean's affectionately, shooting thrills down the touch starved patient's nerves. "A man of taste with a sexy voice and killer eyes," Caleb grinned, "See you tomorrow, Winchester."_

_In Dean's head he replied that it was a date. It was cool to have something to look forward to. As he mixed the plant food granules into water and tended to Spider, shining her leaves and monitoring the progress of her dangling offspring, he pondered if Caleb would like a baby spider plant and what the smiling man's chapped lips would taste and feel like if Dean got the opportunity to kiss them._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++

A kaleidoscope of images from the morning blended and mingled with the wonder of driving out ACIC's gates with his brother. Dean understood this high was the rush of excitement and his reaction to the teary goodbyes he had received and the pounding back claps he had administered in response. Dean could feel the ghost of the Impala's cool black metal exterior when he had removed his gloves to stroke her bodywork with his fingers. He was tempted to blow a raspberry out the rear window at the retreating gates but he didn't for fear of boggling Sam's mind. As they made their way west Dean sneaked furtive glances at his grown up brother. Floppy haired, tanned, earnest and tall, but still fundamentally his Sammy. They were going to California. Sam could have taken him to Mecca or Mars and he'd have left with the same enthusiasm.

Sam filled the silence with his edited highlights of the discharge meeting, making comments about Naomi's expressions, Layla's smiles and how Michelle's hand had flown across her notepad, compared to the pace of his note taking skills at lectures. Dean added intermittent huffs and nods of agreement as he allowed Sam to crow as if they had achieved a victory over tyranny.

Dean began to feel peckish not long into their journey. He poked Sam and pointed at his wrist to ask the time.

Sam wrinkled his brow, "What Dean? Oh, it's almost twelve."

Dean didn't want to be any trouble. Sam was already taking him away. But it was time. He didn't want to ask Sam to pause but he was too jittery. He rubbed his belly and licked dry lips.

"Oh you're hungry? I guess we can stop, we're just coming up on Fayetteville." Sam said airily.

At Subway, Dean snagged two stools at the bar running along the window. He liked to eat with a view. Having a perspective on the world was important. Two mothers, with kids in strollers, eyed him quite blatantly but not a 'wanting to jump his bones' way, rather a 'do I need to protect my children from the strange man' way. He willed his feet to move faster and made sure his back was to all the strangers in the restaurant. Sam, oblivious, went to order and came back with a 6 inch Italian bread sub of chicken breast and mayo with a bottle of water and a choc chip cookie. He perched next to Dean with his own 6 inch subway melt with chips. It wasn't his regular lunch from the hospital kitchen, but it was time to put into practice all Layla's advice about being flexible. The sub was good, lip-smacking open-mouthed-chew better than hospital food. Sam eye rolled and muttered about Dean's disgusting eating habits not having changed. It made something tingle inside and he bumped Sam's shoulder making him spill a mini-wave of soda.

When Dean had helped his brother mop up his soda lake with their pile of napkins, he turned round. The moms were gone. He needed the restroom before they got back on the road. He kept a keen eye out for creeper dudes. Nervous of urinals he took the only cubicle. Dudes were filthy creatures. Last guy hadn't flushed. Dean scrubbed his hands thrice with soap before leaving. He knew he was slow at his task and in his motion but he knew too that Sam would wait. He remembered chasing Sam, zipping around cars in Bobby's or in motel parking lots. He'd made the track team in a couple of schools they had attended. He tried his best not to shuffle but his feet seemed to drag as he emerged onto the restaurant floor. Sam looked discretely away. Dean knew Sam couldn't understand. His slow movement began with the times that he was heavily drugged, a combination of overmedication and side effects on his co-ordination, but when weaned off the old dark days' regime, Dean still shuffled. He'd 'discussed' it with Layla, who told him with practice, effort and willpower he could overcome it. It wasn't physical damage, but psychological or psychosomatic, learned behavior or some other spouted shrink-theory. Time didn't matter so much on the ward. Why speed up when there was nowhere to go? It was also protective – Go unnoticed and stay quiet. If Dean gave no trouble, then trouble did not seek him out.

"I know you ate at five back in the hospital. We could stop for diner food about then and drive on, if that's ok with you Dean?" Sam asked as they belted up.

Dean nodded. He was fine with that. It was close to his schedule and he reminded himself that he would find a new routine in Sam's home. Travelling was a little like the holidays, with the school closed for Christmas or how at Easter Father Moriarty gave extra masses. Also Dean had not forgotten his life before, on the road pulled from place to place by their father. Appreciating Sam's driving skills and imagining one day getting back behind the wheel made for a more pleasurable journey.

"'s like a vacation." Dean spoke aloud without realizing it.

Sam laughed, "An unplanned one. I work Friday nights."

Raised eyebrows asked for more details. Dean wanted to know all about Sam's life. He liked it when Sam filled the miles with his voice. It lifted Dean like wings. He could feel the bright Cali sunshine as they left the Ozarks behind.

"Where do I start?" Sam shrugged, "My scholarship pays tuition and a small stipend towards accommodation, but Dee I'd have been wanted for murder if I had to spend another year in dorms, rooming with a party animal whose chief claim to fame was his aversion to personal hygiene."

Dean winced. He made a back of the throat hum in sympathy.

"So I suppose great minds think alike. My friends Brady and Jessica wanted out. Sarah was in the same Psychology of Art class as Jess and Andy seemed to just find us as we decided to find our own place. I summered in Palo Alto and Jessica had summer electives. Together we found a rambling five bed stand alone with this sweet wraparound porch. Plus it's close to campus." There was a sigh. It began to rain and Sam switched on the wipers.

Dean wondered what Sam's buddies really thought about him bringing his older brother to live with them all. He hoped they wouldn't be all over him like a rash or be jerks about it. If they were Sam's friends there was a good shot that they were decent folks.

"A few hours cataloguing in the library wasn't going to cut it for the rent. I knew I'd need a vacation job that would keep me on reduced hours once my Fall semester started up. Jobs like that are gold in a student town."

"You got one?" Dean asked, already proud of his brother before hearing the details.

"Condensed version? Yes. Brady was headed home to Chicago. His job as dishwasher was open. I didn't want to steal his part time gig but maybe they would take on a second college kid. Off I went brim full of gusto to The Gates of Hell."

The feeling of his eyes widening at the choice of business name linked in with Sam's snicker at his reaction.

"Tagline 'Have your Devil's Food Cake and Eat It'. I near choked from laughing at the cheesiness when I first read it on the matchstrike at the bar." Sam paused for breath, "It's not a club or an exclusive venue, but it's popular in the gay community and is one of those places that carriers can hook up in a relaxed zone."

Dean huffed at the notion. He'd heard plenty of stories from other residents about places to hook up. Sam was working at one. Being a kid when he was sent away, he'd never frequented any of the places the other guys talked about at group or mentioned wanting to visit.

"So this British guy, Fergus, call-me-Crowley, interviewed me. I was kinda distracted by the black, red and purple demonic décor and there's this mirrored wall behind a bar fitted with thin lacquered shelves of liquor bottles. Turned out I was up for the role of combined food server, host, busboy and general dogsbody. Crowley talked, mostly about himself and his hate for the day manager Alastair who robbed the other half of his pseudonym. When I was told to wear black trousers and a button down and handed a white waist apron embossed with Hell's Helper in red thread, it sunk in that I'd been hired. So then he tells me I'd need my own tacky stage name. I was trying to think one up while I got a lecture on the confidentially of working there when some diners did not want it known that they were carriers, not to mention those who were in the closet about their sexuality."

They lapsed into a brief silence. Sam seemed far away. Dean prompted him to continue.

"A warm hand pressed against my shoulder and under my ear was breathed 'Welcome to Hell. Good choice Fergus, his name is fine.' A hand placed a white post-it with Samael written in red sharpie onto the counter. I twisted round and saw the back of a departing blond headed man in a grey pinstripe jacket. It was freaking weird but, I dunno, touching." Sam's voice had softened.

"Who was it?" Dean asked absorbed in the story.

"Nick, the owner, during working hours he's Lucifer." Sam grinned across, "yep really committed to the hell theme. We're a gang of demons working in Hell but actually just a bunch of employees who've become like another family. They're a bit more clique-ish and older on day shifts, with Alastair ruling from the bar and an old queen, alias of Vepar, in charge of the floor. The evening crew are my usual bunch. There's Crowley, who wore his suit even in the hottest weather, Lilith, who might be trans, the chef who may really be a knife throwing demon, and my sarcastic relief from obnoxious customers Paimonia, but that's such a mouthful everyone uses her real name Meg. Friday night's the busiest one, with the attendance of Ruby. Dunno if Ruby's employed by Lucifer or has created a tradition of holding court at a high round table under a red chandelier. Ruby's a matchmaker, or a maker of introductions she prefers."

It sounded like a whole different world to Dean, like on some TV show. He knew people worked at themed restaurants but Dean hadn't thought about the details of much any kind of work except fixing up cars.

"Nick thinks Ruby is teasing me, trying to break through my so called 'veil of secrecy.'" Sam chuckled, "She likes to try and link me up with eye-batting twink carriers. Before break she introduced me to this high flying executive looking for a submissive, not knowing the suit had been in my section for dinner service. I knocked her petite ass off her high stool for that one."

"Go Sammy," Dean blurted in support. He didn't like the sound of this Ruby. Sammy was working. How dare she try and push him into dates with strange guys.

"Hmm, I caught Lucifer giving her a piece of his mind on that occasion. I hope she'll tone it down now. It's kinda hard to wait tables when she sets an effeminate masseuse trailing after me."

"Should quit." Dean hissed, offended on his brother's behalf.

"Crap, Dee. I've given you the wrong impression. Ruby's only there Fridays and she's kept busy with networking. I need to lighten up, y'know. I just don't want it broadcast that I'm a carrier, it's my private business." Sam sucked his lip. "Now I do Monday and Friday evenings and a double on Saturday. Mondays are like a morgue. Lucifer serves bar tallying his weekend receipts in the corner while I serve our few regulars. Fits around my college commitments."

Dean grunted for Sam to continue. He needed to settle Sam's routine around him like a cloak over his shoulders.

"I'm in classes all day, but there are gaps for library, gym and stuff. I'm late with tutorials on Tuesday. I guess we can switch things up. I usually study and hang out with the guys on Thursday and Sunday and there's a campus comedy club I get dragged kicking and screaming to on a Wednesday. Some of Andy's buds take to the stage and have delusions of being comedians. But none of that is set in stone. Hey! The miles have flown by. You must be sick of hearing my voice."

Dean nodded with a faux serious expression, until Sam twigged that he was being mocked and guffawed loudly.

Over two shared pizzas in Clinton Oklahoma, Sam filled Dean in about Jess, Brady, Sarah and Andy; what each of them studied and sports they played. He didn't retain much of it with the divine cheesy goodness in his mouth, but he picked up that Brady was on the lacrosse team and was pre-law like Sam had put in his scholarship application but Sam wasn't all that sure now that he had taken lots of new classes that he wanted to be a lawyer. Back on the road Dean learned that Bobby was the same old ornery gruff stalwart and he perked his ears about Bobby's role in Sam coming to take him away from Arkansas.

"You know the guy, the one they said …" Sam spoke hesitantly and didn't glance over to meet Dean's eyes, "...took advantage of you. That's what the letter was about."

"Didn't" Dean insisted. "Caleb was my friend and wanted to help me live outside."

"Did he tell you that?" Sam probed.

Dean thought he'd make a great cross examiner of recalcitrant witnesses.

"Yeah but guess I wasn't worth the hassle cos he never came back when they sacked his ass," Dean grunted out with the taint of his presumed friend's betrayal making his shoulders slump.

"Or maybe he was a dick." Sam pronounced.

"He had a very pretty dick," Dean snorted.

Sam gaped, "Geez Dean, I'm fricking at the wheel here, man."

"What about you, any cute chicks? Jess or Sarah?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and made an obscene gesture with a tunnel of fingers and his other pointer finger thrusting in and out.

Sam cleared his throat and then gulped for good measure. "Not for me." He licked his bottom lip, "I'm gay."

Dean nodded in understanding. Many male carriers were biologically attracted to other men. Others weren't and had very fulfilling heterosexual lives.

"Maybe one of my housemate 'hotties' will be captivated by your man-beauty. Gender never put a limit on you before." Sam gave a single brow wiggle as his body posture relaxed. Dean wondered if Sam had held unfounded worries about telling him that he was gay. He presumed John was kept in the dark about it all. Thinking of John led to thoughts of Batesville. A pinch of Aaron and their brief scrap of created life clenched his heart, but Dean bobbed his head at his younger brother's comment. He doubted any privileged polished college chick would want a scarred and battered GED educated mute with only a promised welfare check, a spider plant and some sketches to his name.

The purr of the Impala in the dark evening, without the grease oil, sweated out beer and harsh orders of his father, was comforting and lulled Dean into a half-dozing nap. Sam woke him in Amarillo. Their motel had a sameness that soothed Dean's anxieties. It's only nod to a change of millennium was the coin operated internet terminal at reception. It was later than locked down hour by the time they were checked in. Dean needed a shower after their day on the road. He plunked his jammies on top of the scratchy motel towel. Before heading into the tiled shower room he popped the stud fasteners on his wrist cuffs. He saw Sam watching with that puppy dog gaze of worry. Turning his palms up Dean looked at the crisscrossed ridged mess he had made of his lower arms.

Then Sam was sitting on the bed beside him, denim thighs and shoulders pressed together like yesterday. His younger brother took a hand in both of his and rubbed gently over the scars.

"I wish…" Sam's voice trailed away.

Dean had wished a load bucket load of bullshit over the last few years and none of it had done him a scrap of good.

He took a long breath and felt all Sam's love and worries seep through their skin. "I…I... they sh-showed me the waiver D-dad signed… he fuck, fuckity fucking left me there and my baby… my baby died Sam."

Dean quivered and shook in his brother's arms letting out years of held back grief for lives he had lost; his proto-baby and his own. Sam held him and let him sob. Dean gripped Sam's shirt and fisted into the thin cotton. He felt like Sam was holding him up like a life preserver in a sea of tears. Finally when every salty river had run down his face, he mumbled that he was good and Sam gingerly pulled back. Dean retreated into the shower and tried to banish his long forgotten foolish happy families first trimester daydreams.

When he came out of the shower, Sam was on the phone. His eyes were blotched as if he'd had his own fit of weeping. Dean tried to remain unobtrusive as he turned down the bed clothes.

"The airbed isn't for Dean," Sam protested. "Of course he can't sleep long-term on an air mattress. I'm taking the narrow berth."

Dean thought he'd have to thrash that one out with his baby brother before they reached Stanford.

"You can't gift me the staff futon."

Dean had his back turned to Sam but he still huffed in surprise. Was that Sam's boss? The one who made him speak in a hushed soft tone and brought a flush to Sam's cheeks.

"Redecorating our chubby hole is a likely story but you've trapped yourself now 'Lucifer'. I'll know you were telling porkies if we have nowhere new to sit when on breaks." A beaming dimpled grin broke across his brother's face. It was a sight that warmed Dean.

Sam gave an obligatory eye roll when he ended the call. "Guess you've inherited a bed, Dean. It's actually real comfortable and a queen bed size. And it folds up if you want. Nick 'claims' he doesn't want it and he already has a trailer hired for the weekend."

The next morning was a bit more difficult for Dean. He didn't feel like talking, but luckily Sam knew that sometimes no matter who he was with the words didn't come. They switched from one local radio station to another as they travelled. Dean's eyes ate in all the place-signs, billboards and scenery they past. The world seemed to be expanding in front of him. They'd shot through some strangely named town and the road continued through empty New Mexican land, with only the occasional bush to distract Dean from the minutes ticking past noon. He tried to be cool about it. There was nowhere for a rest stop in this barren land. His agitation wasn't listening to his brain. His big toe curled and uncurled in his boot and the dreaded tremble of anxiety moved from his gut to his hands. He clasped his fingers together to hide it from Sammy. The dryness in his mouth wasn't his normal Citalorpram side effect and the rawness in his belly wasn't hunger. Hell he had gone days without a hot meal as a kid making sure that Sam was well fed. It was Saturday which was an odd day at ACIC too. It was an open day for visitors and Dean retreated to the boxy library room, never knowing if or when there would be a volunteer to see him. So really, he comforted himself, riding along in a Chevy wasn't the problem. Their journey was an immutable fact and Dean could be fatalistic about any consequences and could trust Sam to lead the way. Stopping for lunch and his vitamin pill shouldn't be an issue. He started to squeeze his left arm cuff and lick his lips to alleviate his dry mouth.

"You want one of those mini water bottles before we hit Santa Rosa for their best chicken sub?"

Dean closed his eyes and asked "And a Xanax?"

"Shit," Sam swerved into the emergency lane. "I'm sorry. Sheez, I can't even make a decent job of driving you home."

Sam leaned over the bench seat and rooted in the black and white polka dot vanity case that flamboyant new dad Stevie had given Dean as a parting gift. He uncapped the tub of Xanax, "One Dean?"

The heartfelt sincerity made Dean bite back a smart remark about Nurse Sam. He took the small pill with a gulp of water.

"Better?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. They weren't magic beans. The chemicals needed to get into his bloodstream. However the placebo effect of having taken the medication at least permitted his heart to slow down from racing to Prizefighter in Madison Square Gardens pace.

Sam pointed at a Route 66 tourism billboard advertising that it was 13 miles to Santa Rosa. Dean could deal. He even coped when they put ranch dressing on his sandwich and gave him a strange chocolaty treat called a Tim Tam as the cookie element in the Australian-native owned main street diner. Dean narrowed his eyes at a thin pasty encased apple pie that was entitled as an English Tart on the card in the glass display case.

"You want a slice?" Sam offered with a grin, "You need your applesauce fix?"

Dean wheezed a yes. His voice was lost in the prospect of trying a new type of pie. It came with a scoop of proper vanilla flecked ice-cream and was heated to perfection. He forgave the baker the whole clove he found in the luscious apple filling. When the bouncy teen waitress asked if they enjoyed their meal, Dean gave her a thumbs up and grinned all the way back to the car.

Sam clapped him on the arm, "That Xanax must be the good stuff."

"Naw Sammy," Dean got in the last word, "Was the pie."

Satisfied he got comfortable for the next stage of their journey. He wondered if he'd be able to drive the Impala one day, when he'd improved more. He knew his co-ordination wasn't great since the dark days. He had decent finger control for drawing and writing but he tended to drop shit if he didn't get a proper grip and he had his shuffling issue. And then there was a 15 hours driving ban after he'd taken his night time Ambien.

Things were looking up as the day progressed. They stopped at a wild west themed joint in Gallup for green chili burritos. It was so cool he snagged a beer mat and slotted into his box of sketchpads. Sam wanted to know if he'd like one beer but alcohol and his meds didn't mix. They got to Flagstaff early enough to watch a movie their room. Dean was so wrecked he refused his sleeping pill. He was drowsy at the end credits and flopped face down into the bed.

Strong hands shook his shoulders jerking him awake. "Dean? Dean? Wake up dude, you were screaming."

The lingering tendrils of fear made the older Winchester pant and reach out for his brother. The nightmare was fading but he could still feel the cold tiles under his cheek, the hands on his head, neck and limbs, as they put him down and wrapped him up. He gulped and tried to breathe through the terror of being lifted onto a trolley and rolled down to the seclusion room, left staring at the ceiling in 5-point restraint until he soiled the plastic mattress and they'd built up his shots of tranqs so much he drooled and his tongue was swollen against the roof of his mouth.

"Sam." He croaked.

"Yeah, I'm here." A big warm hand wrapped around his.

"It was a bad place."

"I know, I know Dean," Sam soothed.

Sam didn't know. He couldn't know, but the words acted as a balm. Sam sat on the side of his bed holding his hand until Dean drifted back into a dreamless sleep. The following morning it was decided that they shouldn't mess with his medication and there was a reason for the Ambien. Sam took him to IHOP. Dean was almost smug that he had a brother good enough to sit with him through night terrors and take note of his scheduled breakfast choices. They had hot buttery stacks.

"After pancakes, I go to Mass." Dean said as he dabbed his sticky mouth with a napkin.

"Huh, that might a problem." Sam shifted in his seat. "I mean do you really want to go? You're not all Jesus Freak are ya?"

"Father Moriarty…" Dean didn't know how to explain. When everything is black and someone offers you hope in faith.

"Well God never answered any of my prayers. How was there a God when you were dead?"

"I'm not dead." Dean gasped before his throat tightened up at the approach of a family taking the next table.

Outside Dean stopped Sam, "You came and got me."

Sam folded his arms, stubborn and unmoved. "You think that was God? Why'd he wait six and half years then?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't mean to insult you, Sammy, Father Moriarty, he visited me, he talked to me like I was a person not a problem. When I couldn't go on he'd take my confession."

"Let's just get on the road." Sam huffed but Dean could tell his fairly innocuous recollection of the priest had upset his brother. He guessed maybe he shouldn't have implied that he had thought about ending it all. When Sam opened the door for him Dean complied.

They pushed on but Sam wanted a rest stop in Kingman. A church with open doors was across the street. They had missed the service but Sam didn't protest when Dean entered the building and lit a candle for simple thanksgiving. Dean silently mouthed a few prayers in the shot gun seat. It was sort of good that he'd missed the service. He wasn't sure how well he would have interacted with a congregation of normal people.

He tapped Sam on the elbow and said sorry.

Sam gave his own apology. "You were never big on the church, Dean. I mean you use to fidget at Pastor Jim's and roll your eyes when he tried to entertain us with parables. I guess I get it though."

As they travelled with some of Dean's old metal favorites in the cassette player Dean had time for his thoughts to drift. He hoped he wouldn't annoy Sammy with his needs. He'd tried to picture living in Sammy's house. There'd be a window in the bedroom and a kitchen and a bathroom, and there might be a TV where he could choose his own viewing, if the other kinda scary sounding residents didn't mind. He was a bit nervous of Jess and Sarah. He figured that he'll figure out Brady and Andy soon enough. The guys at the hospital always fell into jerk, pothead, shitbag, snotnosed or good guy territory. He hoped Sammy's judgment means they'd fall into the last group. He imagined he'd get to meet Sam's workmates too. He'd picked up on Sam subtle cues that he was crushing on his boss. He wondered if Sam knew or was in denial about the attraction. He was ashamed to admit that it made him a tad jealous. He envied Sam his friends and his admirer/object of desire. The loneliness was difficult in the hospital. Night after night alone in his room. He made friends with some of the others, like Chuck and Aiden, Robbie and George who had left, and even Kit in the end. But it was a lonesome existence. He missed the carefree unmonitored companionship of others. Sometimes he jerked off under the sheets with thoughts of chicks and boys, ones he had met, smokin' ones on the TV, and an imaginary one who would cherish him and hold him in the night.

They drove long into the evening, pausing only for gas, rest stops and the Golden Arches drive-in at Bakersfield. Dean thought that when he finally closed his peepers he'd see the road moving in front of him.

He refused to ask for a Xanax as they took the turn onto Cowper St in Palo Alto and the Impala rumbled to a stop beside a candy-pink vintage Volkswagen Beetle in the two car port of a picturesque Victorian era home.

Dean had not yet extracted his stiff legs from the vehicle when four bronzed and healthy looking people barreled out of the house. The chicks wore their pajamas, the dark haired guy had an Adidas track suit on and the tall blond dude wore tomato sauce splattered kitchen whites. They swamped Sam in hugs which were returned with enthusiasm. Dean leaned against the side panel and tried to shrink out of their curious gazes.

"Introduce us," The peppy blond bouncing on her heels demanded as she linked Sam's elbow and yanked him forward to Dean's position.

Jessica kissed both his cheeks and told him Sam was family which meant Dean was too. Sarah was more reserved but smiled as she shook his hand. Andy smelled suspiciously of josh sticks and he was way too mellow as he asked Dean if he played Doom or Air Combat. Dean shook his head and pleaded to Sam with his eyes.

"Andy got a Playstation 2 for his birthday." Sam huffed. "He thinks he is king of the gamers."

"Cos I am." Andy announced before taking Sam's duffel and heading for the house.

The final greeter was Brady. "Nice to meet you Dean." The student back clapped him, "Sam's my best bud, you know, and we're all happy as clams for him."

Dean nodded. When he looked in the back seat all his belongings had gone, being carried into the house by the others. Only the eccentric vanity case remained for Dean to bear. He was grateful but blushed at the way Sam beckoned from the bottom of the porch steps for Dean to make his way. Brady had Spider. He admired the verdant plant tactfully ignoring how slow Dean was.

"Hey Sam. Nick was here."

"What?" Sam blinked.

Sarah answered from where she was holding open the door, "He showed up this morning in his Lexus with a following delivery from Sullivans. The place was empty and they were waiting here when I came around the corner from my 3 mile run."

"Dude's got it bad for you Sam!" Andy shouted from inside.

Sam blushed and stammered that he was only taking the old futon from the staff room.

Jessica and Andy laughed. Brady clicked his tongue, "We got a new corner sofa in the break-pit, and you got Nick so wrapped around your innocent little pinkie that the boss was here for an hour supervising as they assembled his purchase and placed it as he saw fit."

Sam bolted up the stairs.

Jessica held a hand out to Dean, and Sarah took his meds case. They walked up at a more leisurely pace, finding a stunned Sam in the large bedroom overlooking the street below.

There was a brand spanking new small-queen sized futon dressed in blue and white stripes. A rag-style rainbow floor mat was rolled up under the window. Sam pointed at it and blurted out that the mat used to live where the futon had appeared. On top of the new furniture piece was a stack of fluffy towels, and still packaged bed linen, topped with a plan-free Nokia in its box. Dean bent from the waist to squint at a post-it saying there was twenty dollars credit on it and Sam's numbers programmed into it.

"Hell, how am I going to repay him for this." Sam huffed and plunked onto his own bed.

Dean put down the box of his first ever cell phone. He jerked his head at the female audience, who waved as they retreated.

"He's your friend." Dean said when he was sure they were alone.

"If I had any doubts on that score they are gone, but wow, I mean, wow Dean."

"You wanna call him?"

Sam laughed, "I almost expect you to ruffle my hair and teach me to say thank you. Yeah. I'll call him."

Dean explored the rest of the upper storey, finding an art print decorated bedroom and a josh stick stinky one, before the bathroom. He took his time giving his brother the chance to talk. When he approached their room (and those two words were blindingly glorious) Sam was still speaking. His tone was warm and sprinkled with brief chuckles. Dean guessed any embarrassment or sense of unworthiness had been dealt with. He raised a hand to tell Sam to ignore him as he took his blister pack of sleeping pills with him. He gripped the hand rail tight and stuck his courage to the wall. He ventured down to the housemates, but it was fine. Only Jess was in the kitchen making grilled cheese and supping on cherry cola. Dean took his sleeping pill with the fizzy soda and broke every rule about eating after mealtime. He beamed a mega watt grin when Jess asked him if his supper was okay.

Sam found them there leaning against the breakfast bar, licking melted cheese from their lips. The tender smile of relief that brought out Sam's dimples kicked Dean into gear and he made sure his little brother had his own supper after their long journey. The meds were making him drowsy by the time Sam changed cola for beer. Dean nodded at Jessica and Sam before heading upstairs. Teeth brushed and face clean, Dean remembered that he hadn't said 'goodnight' to Sammy and he knew he'd be in the Land of Nod as soon as his head hit the pillow. He padded back down in his socks. Not wearing hospital slippers gave him enormous pie-standard joy.

Sam's voice with, Dean guessed, Sarah's New York accent drifted out from the kitchen.

"…but how are you going to juggle everything Sam?"

"What Sare?"

"Your studies. You know your scholarship is contingent on a minimum 3.7 grade average."

"So, spit it out." Sam slammed his beer bottle on the table, making Dean jump but not advance from his frozen spot on the bottom step.

"Sam," Sarah said with an exasperated sigh, "Your brother seems like a sweet cute guy but he didn't open his mouth to us. He hunched against the car until you coaxed him to come into the house, and then he moved with his head down in that terrible sad gait."

Dean's breath got caught with a stabbing pain in his chest.

"I know." Sam puffed audibly and his emotions leaked into his speech, "You should have seen him back in the hospital, and in diners, and going down the sidewalk. He flinches away from other people, doesn't make eye contact, and the way some of those backwoods pigs looked at him on our way here…" Sam hissed, "like he was my retarded – I hate that word – disabled brother. And Sarah, am I just as bad? Because I couldn't look, kept my eyes on the road, when he would twitch or tremble in the seat beside me."

Dean backed up each step. Did he? Did he twitch and act like Sam's mentally challenged brother? What had he done? Would he ruin Sam's life? He berated himself for being so selfish and self-focused on getting out of ACIC. He never thought that Sam might have been better off if he stayed there. The walls closed in on him.

He couldn't go back now.

In the bathroom he splashed his face and glared at his image in the mirrored cabinet.

_You are Dean Winchester. You are a survivor. You will not be a victim. They did not break you. They hurt you, damaged, beat and scarred you, but you will not be broken. You can be better. You can do better. You can make this work. You will make this work, with Sam, with Sam._

Having given himself an internal pep talk, of the locker room last quarter type not the psychobabble affirmation type, Dean was chilled enough to let the call to sleep pour over him and find his way to his new, very comfortable, bed. He curled into a fetal position and shot off a quickie prayer that this new start would work out, not only for him but for Sammy too.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A/N:  
Holds hands up... I know 23K words and no Castiel... but he is in the next chapter. Midweek posting.


	5. Four

Author's Note:

Warning for John Winchester's A1 parenting and for abusive language.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and following. Special thanks to those who have reviewed.

Next update on Monday (but I will post Sunday if the chapter is ready).

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_It was early when Dean got Sammy out of bed. It was important to be early in case Dad wanted them to run circles around the block or up and down the apartments' stairwell. Dad said training built men, marines, heroes. But last night Dad had come home very very late, so late that Dean saw light between the curtains. He was making grunting snores and growling dreaming noises when Dean fixed their Frosted Flakes and they shared a banana. Then it was a matter of trying to keep six year old Sammy entertained without Saturday morning kids' cartoons. Dad had busted the TV by throwing a bottle at it. He wasn't getting another one because Mr. Ashton-Mellor's vintage race cars had nearly all been serviced. Dad had been attached to the payphone in the lobby every night calling guys for leads on a new gig._

_Sam jiggled and twirled in circles while Dean built a fort in the slender gap between their twin beds. There was a blanket and sheet roof and the doors were the stained sofa cushions. When it was constructed Dean hid inside until Sam had reached fever pitch and was stamping his feet demanding to be allowed in._

_Dean waved a white pillowcase of surrender. Sam's jaw hung as Dean tipped the drawbridge sofa pad from the top swinging it down to land at Sam's big toe where it peeped out of his sock._

_"Way cool. I win." Sam chirped and squeezed in beside his brother. Dean was wedged against the bed frame with Sam's legs slung over his. "Tell me a story Dee!"_

_Dean rolled his eyes knowing that if he made the effort to begin a story then Sam's inventive imagination would take over._

_"Pretty please, a story, pretty please with Cheez Whiz on top." Sam curled into his chest and looked up with plaintive eyes._

_Clearing his throat Dean began, "Th-there's a dude. Lives in a cave…"_

_"Like Batman?"_

_"Yeah sure, but Bruce Wayne lives…"_

_"Like Batman and he's got a car that flies and a little brother called Sam 'cause he's not Robin and he's got a laser gun and a pet alien ALF and a klingon in the closet that he caught eating his cakes?" Sam asked in almost one continuous breath._

_"Sure but the pet is a…" Dean said amid laughter._

_"A dragon! They have a dragon don't they? I mean they must have. They live in a cave. A big scary dragon that eats old princesses and ogres."_

_Dean snorted. He imagined all the Disney princesses getting eaten up by dragons. "Munch, munch, munch," he growled as he attacked Sam with tickling fingers._

_"Dee! Uncle." Sam squealed and wriggled out of the fort backwards, "Can't catch me Dean. I'm Batman." Sam whipped the flat sheet from the fort and slung it over his shoulders as a ridiculously trailing cape. _

_Dean shot out of their play cave and followed for fear Sam would trip and fall. "Thought you were Robin."_

_"Keep up Dee. I'm Bat-Sam."_

_Dean hooted as they ended up in the worn out kitchen._

_"Da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na Da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na" Sam shouted as he jumped on a chair and to the top of the rickety table, "Bat-Sam."_

_During the second round of Da-na-na-nas, Dean spotted the upturned skillet and wooden stirring spoon by the sink. When the third rendition ended he beat the bottom of the skillet in time with Bat-Sam. The next time Dean hit his drum, he was faced with his enraged hung-over father. The pan and spoon were wrenched from his hands. He backtracked up against the panty door as he watched the Sam's sheet-cape drift to the cracked linoleum in slow motion._

_"Get down from that table, Samuel Winchester," John roared._

_Sam leaped to comply._

_"As for you," John snarled, "Pathetic excuse for an older son. I trust you to look out for Sam and where do I find him? On the edge of a motherfucking table with a sheet wrapped around his legs."_

_Dean shrank back. John's sour breath and spittle flew into his face. His father was bug eyed and red faced in his wrath. Dean would not cry. He would not._

_"Have you two brain cells to rub together boy? Can you not follow a simple instruction to keep your brother quiet?"_

_Dean was confused. He shook his head but then realized he should have nodded, maybe? He couldn't tell John that he hadn't told them to keep the noise down because that would be giving cheek and his voice had totally vanished._

_"You are pathetic. What sort of boy plays with kitchen implements and bed linen?"_

_Dean shook under his looming father but Sam bravely piped up, "It was a game. Batman."_

_John snapped round, "Am I speaking to you?"_

_"No sir."_

_"Do you hear me Dean? Are you a good son?"_

_Dean nodded vigorously. He tried real hard all the time._

_"That's balls. You wake me up banging and clattering and you have the nerve to think that was good?" John shouted._

_Dean wanted to tell his father that he was wrong but his throat had closed up. He opened his mouth but only a wheeze came out._

_"Say it. Say what you are thinking. I hear you whispering and plotting with Sam, playing games and being disobedient. Just fucking answer me." John grabbed the wooden spoon, swung Dean round and whupped his butt with such force that it travelled up his spine and lifted him onto his toes. Dean could hear Sam sobbing with each strike. "Pathetic. Good for nothing. Have you learned your lesson?"_

_Eyes leaking and snot trailing over his top lip, Dean nodded, praying that had been enough, that his father would stop. Sam grabbed onto John's pajama sleeve and tugged. "Dean knows Dad. Look he is nodding."_

_As John pushed Dean away, the boy hung his head with shame at how disappointed his father was in him and that Sam had to have his day ruined. He should have remembered that his Dad was sleeping off his liquor. John rounded on Sam. "You're not going to grow up to be some pussy. Are you Sam?"_

_Sam stared and gave an exaggerated headshake._

_"Clean up this mess Dean," John straightened his back, "Brew me up some coffee and get my Advil. Get dressed. We are heading for the woods. A good hike will blow off the cobwebs. You boys need to man up."_

_There was no point in reminding his Dad that he was the relay team substitute for the elementary schools' meet. Dean's hands shook. His butt and upper thighs burned as he bent to pick up the skillet and sheet. _

_Sam caught him around the waist and hugged him tight. His face had visible tear tracks. "I'm sorry Dee. It was my fault."_

_Dean wouldn't hear that. It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean was the older brother. Sam stuck to him like a sideways walking hermit crab as he dampened the edge of the dish towel to wipe their faces._

_"I hate him." Sam claimed._

_Dean clicked his tongue, "He's not well."_

_Sam huffed, "Don't care. I've got you Dee, and you're the best."_

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The first week at Sam's place was different, but mostly in a good way. Monday they had both been wrecked, lounging around the house until after lunch. Sam had to wait his turn for the laundry machines. It seemed the other students also wanted clean clothes for the new semester. They went grocery shopping in the afternoon, and to the animal welfare goodwill store for some denims and warm hooded sweatshirts for Dean. It might have been California but it was still January. At the huge supermarket Dean's eyes boggled at the choices. Sam had a list that included gallons of passata, and tons of ground meat and pastas. He filled the cart with greens and toilet paper. Dean admired the pop tarts and Sam threw three different varieties in for him. That earned Sam an elbow squeeze. Back on Cowper Street, Dean was concentrating on the two paper bags balanced in his arms when a bicycle zipped past in the corner of his vision. He swung his head, causing the bags to totter. On the opposite street corner the speeding bike pulled up and a bed-head haired dude dashed indoors. Dean wondered if there was an emergency, but when he came back out to pick up the remaining bag from the Impala's trunk, the guy taking off at pace in the opposite direction. Dean got a better look this time. He was easy on the eye, mid twenties, and maybe living across the street. He shrugged his shoulders and put aside the mini-mystery.

That evening Sam had to work. Dean considered remaining in their bedroom but Jess called him down. She was baking cookies to take into her classmates. Boy was she, tray after tray of sugary warm goodness. Dean was covered in confectioners' sugar with a distended uncomfortably bloated stomach when Sam collapsed into a kitchen chair after eleven. Sam had brought home aluminum trays of restaurant leftovers including half of a giant lasagna and a takeout box of dolmades which he warned he was taking into college as his lunch. Dean knew his face must have dropped, when Sam explained that Tuesdays were his fullest day of classes. The other days he had a decent gap and would pop home for lunch, which was cheaper than eating on campus.

Mostly the house was a relaxed place. The housemates didn't live in each other's pockets. They crossed paths when their free time coincided, keeping different meal times, activities and class schedules. Most nights someone cooked a large pot or casserole that could be portioned out when needed or eaten for lunch as leftovers. Dean fell in line, often offering a helping hand, but he didn't like the cracked plates and chipped mugs the students used. He thought that he might buy some brand new cheap crockery from his first welfare check. He was wary of Sarah. After the overheard reservations she had expressed about his presence in Sam's life, he was cautious around her, trying not to draw her attention. However it was Andy who brusquely addressed his past. Dean came down for a breakfast of toast and a pop tart on Sam's early start morning. Andy was chewing granola. He gestured at Dean with a spoon.

"So Dude, you were locked away? What was that like?"

Dean dropped the hot pocket onto the counter. There was no cruel glint in the student's eye. Dean licked his lips and answered, "I-it w-was Hell."

"Figures. Involuntary committal was covered in my ethics class." Andy said casually scratching at his morning stubble, "I'm pre-Med, did Sam tell you? Doesn't freak you out? Having a future doctor in the house?"

Dean shook his head and stared at the stoner guy. He was pre-med? Dean was more freaked out at the thought of the guy ever getting his hands on a live patient.

The days were long without Sam around. Dean kept his side of their room tidy. He arranged his few belongings to his liking. He sat at Sam's desk under the bedroom window and sketched the view of the leafless tree between the sidewalk and the tarmac. In the afternoon mystery guy would appear coming from the North. Then disappear into the house for a short while before reappearing and heading South. He'd made an assumption that the street was full of students, but the cute neighbor spent most of the day in the opposite direction to the campus. There was one variation when a tall older curly blond haired dude in a v-necked tie dyed caftan over ragged black denims chased down the street. Dean quickly opened the window latch hoping to hear their names, but the handsome one stopped and laughed as he took a held aloft cell phone.

Dean caught up on his daytime TV and made sure he took his meds and vitamins. However as the week progressed he began to explore the surrounding streets. He reveled in the freedom of deciding where he wanted to go and when he wanted to do it. Sam was cool as long as Dean remembered to leave a note on the kitchen corkboard and bring his cell aka 'Be 110% sure to take your cell'. Dean made the discovery of a tree filled park at the end of their street and chose one bench as his favorite spot to rest and sketch. There was an angle in the afternoon when the light dappled through the trees and shrubs that was quite unique. He thought Dr Rourke would be proud of him. He was getting out, exercising his legs, and ignoring any rude stares that came his way.

He found other gems too. There was a coffee shop on Lytton Ave where they didn't bat an eye when Dean ordered by pointing at the menu board. It was called Light Up Your Beans and had a curly script painted on the plate glass window announcing they were 'Purveyors of fine coffees, organic smoothies, and home baked goods.' There was a table for two but sort of wedged in the corner near the door so it was awkward for the second person to fit. Dean claimed it as his own and decided he would treat himself to a strong smooth blend whenever he could.

Sam had topped up Dean's money for his wallet. He had felt bad taking it when he knew his brother struggled to make ends meet. He'd vowed to pay him back the next month, but Sam had huffed and told him not to worry about it. Rubbing greenbacks between his finger and thumb made the dollars seem real. He hadn't felt cash since before ACIC. The ward rules were that the remainder of Dean's social security income belonged to him, but they didn't give him the money, rather there was a ledger where the costs of Dean's art materials, small gifts for new Dads, and occasional book purchases were offset against his balance. He had been twenty six dollars in credit when he was discharged. He'd had to sign the ledger before they handed him the cash. The same day he'd found Light Up Your Beans (or Beans as he was calling it in his head), Dean found a blessedly small local grocery store on Webster. It reminded him of 7/11s and mini-marts where he had shopped with tiny Sam trailing along holding his hand and pointing at the boxes of cereal he wanted. He bought Frosted Flakes, Oreos, eggs and maple syrup. He was going to make pancakes from scratch for Sam.

Sam was busy a lot but Dean was used to solitude amongst other people. He knew Sam was adjusting and trying to be at home more. Dean gathered that Sam used to dip into the library or go to the gym during the times he re-appeared at the house. Brady claimed his team had tackled him about the whereabouts of their tallest cheerleader when Sam failed to attend their practice. Sam and Brady were pretty tight. They took some of the same pre-law suitable classes, and Sam shared his Cultural Anthropology class with Jess. Back on Tuesday night the rest of the house had mocked Sam and Brady's way of snorting laughs at the same time. There had been a leftover lasagna party. Jess's friend Becca was included due to the lack of MTV in her dorms and her nose for The Gates' delicious surplus food. Sam and Brady groused and moaned about their World History professor who wanted assignments on an unreasonably soon due date. Then Andy was kicked off his playstation. Everyone was shushed and hushed even Dean who hadn't said a word. The volume was set to blast level on the TV. Sarah whispered that it was a new episode of The Osbournes and she simply adored Sharon. Dean was simultaneously fascinated and horrified as the whole family of one of his musical idols seemed to get drunk or high and in the middle of the chaos Ozzy became a grandfather. Sam promised to check the schedule for reruns so Dean could catch up.

The following morning mail came with Dean's name on it. It was a thin windowed manila envelope. He chewed his lip and considered waiting until Sam came home to open it but told himself to man up. It was very unlikely to be ruling that he had to go back to Arkansas. Then he freaked himself out even more imagining dog-catcher style caricatures of EMT's coming with a straight jacket to seize him as a runaway psych-patient. His breath was catching and his hands trembling as he chastised himself for permitting such dumb outlandish fears to surface. He heard the back door bang, announcing Andy's departure. The kitchen was vacant. Dean found a steak knife and slit open the official letter. His bum collapsed into a chair as the simple message read that he had an appointment at 2.30pm on Monday with his case worker, a Mr. Fitzgerald, at the Santa Clara Social Services Agency. That wasn't so bad and Sam had promised to take him. Dean left the letter on Sam's bed before pulling on one of his new soft sweatshirts and heading down to the park. It stung when a passing father jerked his three year old pigtailed daughter's hand to swing her round, placing his body between Dean and the little girl. He tried not to scuff his feet on the sidewalk but that made him slower and he wanted to get to his bench. Sam came and found him, full of his arrangements for Brady to take notes for him in his humanities class on Monday afternoon and how he had called to confirm their appointment and get directions. Dean was happy that Sam seemed satisfied with nodding and grunts of acknowledgment as his little brother linked their arms for the walk back.

Thursday afternoon Dean was preparing to sit at the window and not at all, not really, wait and see if his favorite biker turned up at his usual time. Instead he saw Sam coming home.

"Dean? Hey Dean?" Sam stomped around the ground level.

"Up here." Dean called.

"Good. My Statistics tutor's got mono. I'm free until my Ancient Egypt class." Sam danced from foot to foot on and off the bottom step, "You wanna see campus?"

Dean beamed. He'd love to see where Sam went to college. He knew he's get to visit the Stanford campus at some stage but to get a guided tour by his brother as a surprise treat was awesome. He ducked back into their room to grab his denim jacket before Sam might change his mind. Dean was amazed how familiar Sam was with everywhere and had to remind himself that his brother had been there for over a year. Outside the Hoover Tower Dean saw their attractive neighbor wearing a rumpled dark suit and a blue backwards tied necktie hurrying across the grass.

He nudged Sam and pointed as discreetly as he could.

"Huh Dean?" Sam raised his brows.

"Who's that?" Dean hissed.

"Who?" Sam looked around, partially up in the air as if the object of Dean's attention was randomly floating by.

Dean huffed in exasperation, "Cute guy?"

"Where?" This time Sam's fruitless searching was more urgent.

"Gone now, you… lump. The guy with the bike, lives opposite?"

Sam laughed, "I have no idea who you are crushing on Dean."

"Am not."

"The only one I know opposite us is kooky Balthazar, the astrologer."

Dean jerked his head, taken aback. The tie dyed guy could have such a weird profession.

"Works out of the New Age store where Andy bought his bong." Sam added.

"Is that so?" Dean mused. He strained his neck in the direction the guy had gone but he didn't reappear. He wondered where the New Age store was.

Sam took Dean for coffee at an on campus spot. It was crowded and the windows were fogged up. Dean found it uncomfortable. The tables were too close together. The air was filled with raised voices and radio pop songs. Sam waved at a few people and smiled with dimples as they returned his greetings. Dean tried to hunch his shoulders and make his body smaller but the only table free was in the middle of the melee. A huge jock with a tiny dreadlocked brunette took up the whole space to Dean's right. The guy clapped Sam on the shoulder and ribbed him about Brady's lack of performance on the Lacrosse team. Then he stuck his meaty paw in Dean's face.

"Uriel Cox and my girl Sally."

Sally quirked a half smile but didn't let go of Uriel's shirt. Dean gulped and nodded to both of them. He couldn't speak but the snarky part of his brain wanted to ask if the monster truck sized dude's parents had really hated their baby so much they'd named him You're A Real Cock.

"My brother Dean," Sam supplied helpfully.

"Well, Dean," Uriel drawled, "You transferring in? Or just visiting?"

"Dean's moved in with us." Sam added.

Uriel gave a barking laugh, "Hey Winchester, can he answer?"

Dean shot daggers at Sam. He was not to tell this jerk that he was mute. Dean could see Sam biting back those very words.

"So Uriel," Sam diverted, "What are the Cardinals' chances?"

That led to a rounding defense of the team's play by Uriel. Two other guys turned their chairs and joined in. Dean supped his tall black brew and listened. He made a note to ask Sam if he had tried out for any of the teams. Sally caught his eye and gave him an appreciative sweeping look. She was pretty and Dean was flattered but categorized her as 'don't touch'. She had a boyfriend who could crush Dean's goolies by thought alone, and she was giving come hither eyes from under said boyfriend's arm.

Sam apologized for Uriel's dickish behavior on the way home, but Dean shrugged it off, he was experiencing a certain glow from Sally's attraction to him.

On Friday nights at ACIC there was a movie on a pull down screen in the largest school classroom. In Palo Alto Dean waved a box of microwave popcorn at Sam and asked "Movie Night?"

"Awh crap Dean. It's Friday. I have to work." Sam's brow made a sympathetic frown. Dean noticed he was dressed in black. He'd forgotten Sam's work shift.

"It's only after four," Dean looked at the cheap elastic strapped watch that Sam had picked up for him. It fitted easily over his arm cuff.

"I know. I have work from five same as Monday." Sam sighed, "I'll make it up to you. Let's do movies on Sunday, yeah?"

Dean fixed the top button of his little brother's shirt and sent him on his way with the instruction not to work too hard and to watch that Ruby person.

Saturday could have been as bleak as Friday night. Everyone worked. Well, except Andy who it seemed had a trust fund. Sarah was at an art gallery in San Francisco. Sam and Brady had gone in for their double shifts at The Gates. Jessica was at a bookstore in the Stanford Shopping Centre. Dean had a lazy morning but took Jess up on her invitation to visit her workplace. The mall was crazy busy but thankfully the bookstore was a haven of peace. He noticed some wandering dudes, perhaps parked their by wives and partners while their significant others made dents in their credit cards. Jessica took him to Starbucks on her break and he walked her back to her post. He was almost sure he saw their neighbor reading the back of a hardcover in the science section but when he looked again he was gone and he missed the opportunity to point him out to Jessica.

As he walked home he thought of a discussion that had come up at group. How when you spot someone, or something new, that attracts you then you start to see them everywhere. Dean remembered it had this nerd-cool name, the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

Sunday morning Dean made pancakes which were so good that he had to make a second batch of batter to feed the housemates' voracious appetites. He muttered a thanks at their compliments which earned him a backslap from Brady. Instead of mass, Sam suggested they take advantage of a day in the low seventies and blue skies and go to the beach. Dean was chilled about it. Mass had offered him a crutch back when he needed the support. He figured that God, if He was watching, didn't care if Dean knelt at a pew or offered prayers into the great expansive sky over the Pacific waves of Half Moon Bay. The wide expanse of sand was postcard picturesque and downright gorgeous. He thought he might try and find a postcard of the strand and mail it back to the guys in Arkansas. It was nicely warm but a light breeze came in off the water when the tide changed. The Winchesters tied their hoodies around their belts and let the winter sun warm their arms below. There were other walkers and runners but it was not crowded. Sandpipers danced at the foamy edge of the shallow waves. Sam pointed out the direction to a famous surfing spot but Dean was content to enjoy the long expanse of the bay. In lieu of lunch they ate M&Ms on the sand and Sam told him a bit about his teenage years.

"I wished Dad would leave me with Bobby." Sam sighed as Dean laid back on his elbows tilting his face to the sun. "I mean I got to skip 9th grade in Sioux Falls and when I got to finish 11th grade there it was like a reunion at school. And I could talk to Bobby, y'know. And I don't mean all 'touchy feely chick flick' like you hate. I mean…. I wasn't allowed to mention you around Dad. Looking back now I guess Dad mighta been cut up with guilt or just determined to cut you out of our stinking lives."

Dean could hear his brother's emotions rolling through the words. He tapped him on the arm to remind him that they were back together and all that was in the past.

Sam huffed, "I get it. And you know it wasn't all bad. I won a divisional soccer medal in Sioux Falls, a mathlete award in Pensacola, and I got shortlisted for a national essay competition when Dad got a gig at the new speedway circuit in Irwindale. God, Dee, you have no idea how much I loved Irwindale. It's down near LA and a real small city. It felt like I got to know everybody and it was normal and settled. We had a two-bed rental and there was a teen center where everyone met up. I made friends, got to meet up with William Paxman behind the library."

Sam's voice had got dreamy. Dean tried to suppress a laugh, only his little studious brother would have a make out zone behind a library.

"I was applying for college scholarships behind Dad's back, pushing ever ounce of my being into the ones for Cali; Berkeley, UCLA, CSU, and Stanford. Of course the dream ended with Dad's contract being terminated. But I got my acceptance letters there." Sam lifted his eyes to the sky. "There were other good places too. In Daytona Beach I was up for soccer team captain. You were always more of an individual competitor, weren't you? I remember cheerleading for you at the 400m and the hurdles."

Dean snorted, "I was like a race horse."

"Yeah, all sweaty and galloping across the line." Sam chortled.

Unprompted the old movie title rose in Dean's mind: The Shoot Horses Don't They. He shook it off. Sam hadn't mentioned any sporting activities in his current routine. Dean prompted him about his involvement now. Turned out, Sam and Brady both tried out for freshman lacrosse and soccer but Sam had to concentrate on his studies. Stanford was supportive of athletics but he wasn't on a sports scholarship and with work and keeping up his grade average, he didn't pursue a team place. Sam enthused about the gym and promised to get Dean an in so he could use the equipment with him.

As Sam expanded on the idealistic view of the law he had held when applying and his current doubts, Dean's admiration for his brother grew. He was so put together and mature. Who cared if he picked a different major? Sam explained he could take the LSAT in his senior year no matter what his major was, but he was tempted by anthropology. He enthused about the fascination he had with people, society, history, psychology, culture, biology and gender studies. The subject spanned them all. He'd had this vision when in high school of a small law practice or the achievement of a partnership, and a family, and a home. Coming to Stanford had opened his eyes to all the different 'normal' lifestyles out there and also the downside of a life of corporate law or small town practice full of wills and torts. He could go into criminal or civil rights law but the competition was fierce.

On the way home Sam complimented Dean on his improved walk. Dean straightened his back in his seat. He was almost teary eyed that Sam had noticed his efforts. He had been exercising and walking and it obviously was working. He concentrated on lengthening his stride another fraction on the short distance from the car port to the door.

Andy was shoving a copy of The Matrix into the VCR. Sam asked him and Sarah to pause the viewing. Brady had gone to The Gates and Jess was out with Becca and Zach. Dean made popcorn drenched in salty butter. He dragged the beanbag next to Sam's spot on the sofa and they settled in for the movie. Dean was rapt. It was so cool. He wondered if he could find a long dark coat in a goodwill store.

"Haven't you seen it before?" Andy asked as the credits rolled.

Dean shook his head while Sam punched Andy's arm and called him a jackass.

"No, Sam." Dean cleared his throat to educate his brother, "We had a movie night, but I think the mindfuck in his one didn't pass the censor."

"It is a mindfuck, dead on." Andy whooped. "I went five times when it was in theatres."

"We discussed it in Film last semester, so if you keep an Art History class next year, there is a heads up for your early assignments Sam." Sarah said as she stood up, "I bought beer for you underage douches. Any takers?"

Sam and Andy raised their arms. Dean asked her for a cola and they sat around watching a Buffy rerun until Brady arrived and planted three quarters of a pear and pecan pie on the low black tiled coffee table. There was a sword fight of forks to consume it, but Dean was confident he scored the largest portion. He gave an unapologetic haughty shrug when everyone else groaned at his mega-decibel burp.

On Monday 13th, Dean sat on the end of his bed looking out the window. He was waiting for Sam. He had been nervous all morning. His brain pricked him with superstitions about the number thirteen and the probability that he would seize up completely with the social worker and not be able to utter a word.

Dean picked the damp towel off his bed and hung it to dry over the open door of the closet. It was one of the new luxurious bath sheets that had been included in his Welcome to California gift from Sam's boss. He'd worked up a sweat moving the furniture around the bedroom. He hoped his brother wouldn't be pissed with him about the rearrangement. It was just that with his bed parallel to Sam's on the side of the room that caught less of the single wide window, all Dean could see were the walls and ceiling. He had begun to hang a few of his favorite sketches and cards, with Sam's permission. The walls weren't bare and stark like back in the psych ward. There was already a Franz Marc poster that Sarah had donated from her collection. Sam's room had been wallpapered by a previous leaseholder in a dark cream with a fleur-de-lys pattern. Dean had switched the beds round so that his was in the right corner ending where he had the chest of drawers. This way Dean could look out if he sat against his pillows and he had a great view from the end of his futon. The door opened against the bottom of Sam's moved bed which was right angled to Dean's. The desk and their shared closet took the other side of the window up to the wooden stool Sam used as a table for his bedside reading lamp.

All this meant that Dean caught a great view of the dark haired cute guy returning home. Dean checked the time. Sam was late. It was almost 1.45pm. As he watched his neighbor fumbled to detach his book bag from his bike. He turned round, not aware he was giving Dean a full frontal view. His blue-grey hoodie was unzipped and Dean could see a peek of a white shirt. Dean felt a sense of contentment at the way his and the stranger's schedules matched up neatly, allowing him to catch all these glimpses. It was weird, and possibly bordering on the whole insanity thing, that he felt companionship with a dude he had never met. The maybe-astrologer seemed to have a totally random existence. Dean kind of hoped they weren't lovers but maybe were related or housemates. He huffed at the vain hope that he might meet up with his neighbor and that the dude would want to get to know Dean.

After another few minutes Dean was pacing back and forth.

Sam finally made his stomping run up the stairs. His hair was askew and he panted, "Are you ready?"

Dean eye rolled.

Sam did a double blink and stood agog taking in his rearranged furniture. "What have you done Dean?"

"M-moved shit."

"We don't have time. Come on." Sam led the way to the car.

On the road south Sam asked him why.

Dean moistened his lips and sent a quickie plea heavenwards for fraternal understanding, "I need to see the window."

"OK." Sam said with a slight nodding motion.

"OK?" Dean checked.

"Yeah. Fine Dean." Sam shrugged one shoulder.

"You OK?"

"Yeah I'm good. Brady's taking notes for me. Like he'll photocopy his notes. I've warned him on pain of death to be legible." Sam twisted his lip.

Dean wasn't sure how to interpret Sam's mood. He seemed annoyed but not necessarily with Dean. It didn't help disperse the horrible jittery sensation under his ribs. As their short journey came to an end, Dean made puffs of air like the guys who would practice their Lamaze breathing. Once they came off the highway Sam wrapped a hand around his arm and promised everything would be alright. He offered him a Xanax but Dean had left the tub on their dresser.

There was a convenient spot for the Impala in the parking lot of the imposing glass fronted Social Security Agency building. The efficiency of the staff impressed Dean as they were directed initially to the third storey and then directly to Mr. Fitzgerald's office. There was no waiting. Dean plucked up his nerve and knocked with confidence on the social worker's door.

"Come in," A cheerful voice sounded.

The office was tiny, more of a cubby hole. There was barely enough room for the paper strewn desk and three chairs on the client side. Dean noticed a pile of comics and a blue glove puppet for the kiddies.

"Call me Garth," The case worker extended his hand, "Mr. Fitzgerald is my Dad. And you must be Dean."

Dean's heart still thumped against his ribs as he nodded and Sam introduced himself. The guy did not look threatening with his slight frame, wide eyes and welcoming smile, but Dean knew that looks could deceive.

"Take a seat, please dudes."

"So are you the county's carrier social worker?" Sam asked.

Garth chuckled and replied, "I wish. There aren't enough carriers in Santa Clara to warrant it. Maybe in the big cities. My official role covers single and teen parents but I'm glad to take on any carriers in need of assistance."

Dean tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The guy  
either had a serious hand waving habit or he was making a presumption that had frustrated Dean since he was a boy.

"I'm not deaf." Dean grunted.

"But you know ASL?" Garth said unfazed by Dean's protest.

Dean glared and left it to Sam to run through the Winchester family history. Peripatetic upbringing combined with a father who preferred to ignore Dean's problem rather than seek treatment or assistance for his son. Garth scribbled as Sam talked. They'd offered him ASL classes at ACIC too, but Dean had refused.

"Down to business." Garth passed across a form for Dean to sign to confirm his residence in Santa Clara County. ACIC had forwarded all his relevant documentation. Garth gave Dean his birth certificate and his expired North Dakota driver's license. He gave him the location of the nearest DMV offices so he could renew it as a Californian one.

"Would next Wednesday, the 22nd , be suitable for a home visit?" Garth looked up at Sam.

"Yeah, sure." Sam confirmed hastily, "What time? I'd like to be home."

"I have a family conference in Los Altos but I should be with you by noon." Garth leaned forward, "I'm not the hotel inspector."

"Huh?" Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm not looking for cobwebs or if you have degreased your oven." Garth grinned, "I need to check off my list that Dean has a safe, solid, and steady place to live. I will need to see a copy of your lease and evidence that you are not in rent arrears."

Sam nodded and whispered to Dean that there was no problem there.

"We are all about done here. I'm registering you for the Ticket to Work program, Dean."

Dean chewed his lip, "Do I… Do I get a choice about where I work?"

Garth rolled his chair back, "We match the candidate to the role, but yes within that structure you will get to pick from the available positions, and let me reassure you now that we will support you, most likely I will be assigned as your job coach." Garth stood up. "My 2.45 is due, guys."

The Winchesters stood in unison. Dean huffed. He hadn't realized the meeting would be Wham Bam Thank You Man.

"Oh Dean, I almost forgot, your appointment with Dr Henricksen is at the Stanford Medical Center on Friday at 5pm."

Dean exhaled slowly. He knew he was obliged to see a psychiatrist, and he'd promised Layla that he would go, but a part of him was shouting that he didn't need the hassle now that he was living with Sam. However the way the news made him wish he hadn't forgotten his Xanax told him that seeing the new doctor could possibly be a good idea.

Garth wished them farewell with a few lines about having a positive outlook and hope for the future. It was well rehearsed but not jaded and Dean believed the sincere little dude meant every word.

"Sammy?" Dean said as they approached the turn onto Cowper Street.

"Yeah Dean?"

"Can we go for coffee?"

Sam looked like he was about to refuse. Dean knew his little brother had work but they were back way earlier than expected. He was feeling wacked and craved the relaxed atmosphere and smooth coffee from Beans.

"You wanna go to the one on campus?" Sam asked.

Dean cringed, "Ah-ahem, you been to the place on Lytton?"

Sam grinned as he swung the car round, "You've been exploring."

For once, Dean was Sam's tour guide in Palo Alto. His preferred table was too confined for sasquatches. Dean eyed the free tables as they approached the counter. He pointed for a tall skinny latte. Sam ribbed him about the skinny. Dean patted his belly and stuck it out as if he was watching his figure. Sam was snorting so much he was almost as incapable of verbalizing his order. "I'll have a mocaccino and Dean will have a tall skinny latte."

The barista turned from his machine to face them. It was cute guy. Dean's jaw dropped. He thought he might have to push his chin up with his finger. Cute guy was smiling and his eyes were so blue. Then the blue eyes made contact with his and they crinkled into smiling peepers. Dean broke out his own awe filled beam in response. Sam caught his wrist to get him moving towards a table for four within spitting distance of the window, then scooted for the restroom. Dean waited in a state of suspension. Before he knew it, the barista was placing their beverages on the table, which was weird because they normally shouted them from the counter and the patrons collected them.

"Thank you." Dean said rapidly so the words would be spoken before his anxiety could catch up with his voice. He could read the small narrow nametag on the guy's polo shirt. Castiel. Dean wound it around his tongue and tried it out silently.

"You're welcome Dean," Castiel hovered, "I saw you in the bookstore. I seem to be seeing you everywhere, the beach, in the park, walking by the house."

"Baader Meinhof," Dean blurted. He closed his eyes and winced, believing he had announced he was a crazy person. He did not just say Baader Meinhof as virtually his first words to Castiel.

However the other guy nodded sagely "Yeah, the Baader Meinhof phenomenon. I had not considered that. "

Castiel looked at Dean as if he was the smarter one present. "My cousin would say it is fate. I never do Mondays but Tamara's ill and my Monday afternoon class hasn't commenced for the semester. Are you a Monday regular?"

Dean shook his head. He could feel a flush rising at the deep sexy voice of his crush.

Castiel pulled a small ordering pad from his waist apron and wrote a string of numbers.

"Here's my cell. Hope you'll call, Dean. I'd like to take you for a coffee some time and discuss sociological phenomena."

Dean blinked and grabbed the note with his fist. Castiel was being called back to the counter. He gave a sad smile of apology. Dean nodded his understanding and pocketed the cell number. If Castiel had meant call and speak to him over the phone, that was fairly daunting, but Dean might text, maybe, and then he might have a date, maybe.

On the way to the Impala some middle school boys were lounging outside a candy store. They elbowed each other as Dean and Sam walked by. Dean had taken Sam's elbow. He was on a high from getting Castiel's number which was secreted in his jeans pocket.

"Freak fag."

"Dumb retard."

Dean straightened his spine and dragged his brother to the car. Steam was almost coming out Sam's flared nostrils. His fists clenched and unclenched. Dean was afraid Sam was going to turn round and vent his temper on the kids.

"How dare they? How dare they Dean? I should go back and give them a piece of my mind."

"Are you calm enough?"

Sam pinned him with his laser eyes.

Dean took a pause, "Someone should set them straight but you are pissed."

"Damn right."

"And what will strangers see? A big guy roaring at some young kids, or worse, chasing them."

"Punks." Sam growled.

Dean patted his brother's arm to calm him. He was able to ignore the slurs. He focused on Castiel's smile, they way he had seen through Dean's outer symptoms, his deep graveled voice, his piercing eyes. He admitted that he had it bad, but he also had the guy's number.


	6. Five

A/N - warning for an intimate scene, more slightly steamy smuttiness than a scene that would warrant a change of the ranking to mature, in my opinion, but if you do not wish to read then skim or skip from the kiss until the spell is broken.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_Sam bent double on his canteen chair. His hair flopped over his eyes and his forehead hovered above open knees. The stomach cramp was brutal. He had woken up with a deep ache, taken two Tylenol, and cursed his father for leaving only leftover, probably spoiled, pizza. As the Geek Scoobies of Irwindale flocked around their fallen comrade, Sam concluded that he did not have food poisoning. He tried to analyze if the gripping ache was concentrated on his right. It would just be his life if his appendix burst on the same morning as Mr. Kingston's class gave him a round of whooping applause for gaining a place on the shortlist for the Roman Industries Inspirational Essay contest._

_"Sam?" William's whisper of his name was soaked in concern._

_"I'm good," Sam wheezed a downright lie to his fellow mathlete and maybe boyfriend._

_William ignored his protest pulling him to his feet. Sam groaned and made an ineffectual feeble effort to push the well meaning slim curly dark-haired boy away. William bamboozled the substitute teacher monitoring their break with a meticulous description of the symptoms he had observed. The result was a sanctioned visit to the nurse's office and a seed of suspicion planted in Sam's pain addled mind that he could possibly have a burst peptic ulcer or a septic kidney stone. _

_"I bet it's gas," He moaned as William half dragged half carried him down the hall through the stares of horrified younger students. _

_Laying flat on his back and rubbing circles into his belly helped. Having William be shooed away didn't._

_"Sam dear?" The almost retirement age nurse pulled a chair over so she could sit at eye level to Sam's prone figure on the day bed. "Are you cycling?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Ovulating, my dear." She patted his damp hand with her wrinkled one._

_"Maybe?" Sam considered, "But it's never been this bad. How... how did you know? It's not in my records."_

_The nurse clicked her tongue and tapped her nose, "Decades of teenagers." She smiled at him, "Now how come you are not on the andro-pill if you are suffering? It is proven to help."_

_"My Dad..." Sam looked ceiling-wards for inspiration, "He doesn't know. He wouldn't approve. You won't tell him will you Nurse? Please."_

_"No my dear. You are eighteen soon?" _

_"Six weeks." Sam held his breath. He had proverbially been holding it for months waiting for his university application decisions and his eighteenth birthday. If he got any sort of manageable scholarship then John could stick his roving lifestyle, his mean drunkardness, and his idea of training Sam to fix race cars up his fucking asshole so far they would never see the light of day._

_"Once you are eighteen, son, you get yourself a script for a good oral contraceptive. Do you keep a cycle diary?"_

_Sam shook his head. He tried to remember when he got twinges and the traces of discharge that made him glad his father never considered doing their laundry. Sometimes he'd mark it in his study diary with a black cross, but then he'd forget the next time. _

_"Here I always have spares." She offered him a tiny black book that fitted into the palm of his hand. "And this is what will help you today."_

_She handed over a cup of water and two pills. He took him with long sips. He pocketed the mini-diary but knew it would have to go in a trash can before he left the school grounds. The nurse told him to rest until the cramps died down and covered him with a fleecy blanket to keep him warm._

_"You're a good student Sam. I hear in the colleague room that you are a joy to teach." Her sympathetic words were comforting as she dimmed the lights. "We all read your essay, son. You deserve to win the contest. Let me tell you something."_

_Sam perked his ears up. He hoped she wasn't going to run though the essay into which he had poured his grief and loss._

_"I have three brothers and an older sister. And they are distant and cold hearted, every solitary one of them. You were blessed with twelve years of your inspirational brother, and you deserve to take care of yourself like he would have wanted you to."_

_With that she was gone. Tears stained Sam's cheeks as he curled under the blanket, but with them his resolve hardened to make something of himself, and a promise to Dean if he was listening up in Heaven, that he would take care of his health and once he was out from under John's thumb he would be his own man._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam gripped the bar towel with white knuckles, scrubbing at a table that only required a wipe down. Baldur had gone home. Sam had helped the chef clean down the kitchen while the last table finished their post meal Armagnac.

The next table also received the attempted varnish removal treatment. The muscles between his shoulders bunched and threatened to spasm. He was holding on by a thread and he knew it. Once the tables were done he would help Nick lock up and he could go home. Dean would be waiting up for him. And Goddamn him for thinking it but he didn't want to deal or chat or make nice tonight. He longed to flop into his bed and sleep. The bed Dean had moved into the back corner of the room.

Lost in his thoughts Sam only noticed Nick when he pulled the bar towel out from between his fingers.

"Talk to me Sam."

"About what?" Sam's chest tightened as he was guided with a gentle hand at his lower back to the corner booth.

"You have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Can I help? Is there something I can do?" Nick's blue eyes bled how perturbed he was.

Sam sagged over the table. His thumb scrubbed a finger mark he had missed. "No." He sighed. The muscles eased out of his shoulders until it was too much effort to hold them up, "It's just... I used to lie in bed torturing myself by imagining Dean hadn't died. But in those fantasies we were still teenagers. Dean would be snarky and cheeky but the responsible one. Tapping on my school books for me to complete my homework. Collecting me from my friends' places or from high school, and they'd all stare and be envious cos my brother was so cool and handsome."

Sam stopped. Nick remained a silent presence.

"But he is quiet and nervous. Sometimes I can't believe he is nearly twenty four and other times he looks like he has lived a lifetime. And Jesus Christ he is trying. He is battling back from everything that was inflicted on him, by the abuse in the hospital, by our Dad, by life... and he needs me. He needs me, Nick," Sam sobbed, "He needs me but I want my big brother back."

Nick patted his shoulder.

Sam looked down at the table, "And I have no answers. I'm winging it here."

"Has your brother met his case worker and therapist yet?" Nick's voice was soft and calm.

"We met the social worker today. A quick introduction. Dean's got an appointment with his new psychiatrist later in the week." Sam gulped back all his crazy emotions zipping around.

"Maybe they will be of help."

"Maybe," Sam wrung his hands, "But I feel lost."

Nick moved over to wrap his arms around him. Sam stood and pulled the older man in close.

"I've got you." Nick promised into the air over Sam's shoulder.

Sam felt the words settle the tossed waves of the maelstrom. Nick raised a hand to push a strand of hair behind Sam's ear, then rested his warm palm on his neck, "You are a beautiful person."

"Stop," Sam said with an embarrassed huff. He would have batted Nick's hand away if that didn't mean he would have had to let go of his hold around Nick's waist.

"You are. Inside and out." Nick tilted his head so that their eyes could meet.

Sam read the intensity, the sincerity and the desire there. His heart fluttered. Nick was so close and it felt like he was being held up, held together by the contact between them.

"May I?" Nick's finger traced his bottom lip with a feather light touch asking permission for the kiss.

Sam knew he could refuse. He could fly off on one and accuse Lucifer of sexual harassment in the workplace. He knew that wasn't what this was. He felt something in his solar plexus drawing him towards his boss. He leaned forward and parted his lips.

The kiss was softer than Sam expected, almost tentative. When Sam kissed back in return, he sought to prove that he did want this and it was messier, wetter, more urgent and possessive as he pushed his tongue against Nick's teeth, opening him up until they joined and aligned their bodies. Sam only realized they had moved a few paces when his back was pressed against the claret colored wall and Nick's erection strained against his hip. Sam could feel the uncoiling heat and knew he was half hard as he ground their bodies together. Nick's knee pushed between his legs. Sam parted them. Kisses turned to panting and holding to clinging. Sweat broke across Nick's brow. Sam lifted his neck to taste it, then his fingers fumbled with Nick's tie knot, loosening it so he could nuzzle into the skin at the hollow of his throat. Nick's knee worked circles against Sam's groin. Small moans lifted into the air.

"Sam," Nick breathed. "What are you doing to me?"

Sam preened and burst with self-satisfaction that he could make a guy hard just from kissing and grinding. Nick pressed his hand onto the wall above Sam's shoulder, bracing his body, while exploring the length of Sam's throat with his lips. Sam let his head hit the wall behind as his chest heaved and his hips rose seeking Nick's body. After a beat the blond reverently began to undo Sam's button down. Sam threaded his fingers through Nick's hair and pressed their foreheads together. He closed his eyes feeling the loss of contact but then the last button flew off his shirt. Nick's soft lips tipped his nipple. Then there was firm sucking and teeth grazing over his nubs that caused Sam to grit his teeth and vocalize Nick's name in long gasps. He ran his hands across Nick's chest under his shirt, digging his fingers into his shoulders.

"God" Sam gasped. Then Nick's lips met his again in short kisses and flicks of his tongue. Nick's whole body shuddered and he hissed Sam's name.

Sam gave one huge audible breath and sagged down the wall until his butt hit the tiles.

"That was…" Nick's chest rose and fell in recovery heaves.

"Pretty awesome." Sam gave a single laugh.

Nick threaded his fingers into Sam's right hand to help him up. He leaned over to kiss the rip he had made in Sam's shirt.

"You're paying for a new one." Sam teased.

Nick chuffed his agreement and parted the black material further to kiss over Sam's navel.

"Are you?" The hushed question was almost inaudible, "Are you Sam?"

The spell was broken. Sam wrenched their hands apart. He slammed the brakes on all the gooey feels that had been melting his core. He stumbled to his feet, knocking over a stool, and willing his lust to disappear.

"Bastard." He cried with real tears, "How dare you! This why I never… with anyone… all my life… yes… you pervert I can carry. Fuck you Nick. Fuck you and your job. I will not be a prize won for my breeding ability. You can stick your fucking restaurant and your concern and your pity."

Sam wanted to flounce out of the joint, maybe backhand all the colorful bottles behind the bar so they came clashing down in a rain of shattered glass, but instead he hunched over a high table and sobbed his eyes out.

"Please, Sam, please listen."

It was the quiet resignation in Nick's plea that stopped Sam from turning his back on him forever. With shuddering breaths he turned round and folded his arms.

"I apologize." Nick gulped and dropped his head. "I don't think kissing you was a mistake, and I am your friend. If you insist I won't see you again. I can have Crowley take Tuesday night off instead. I'll stay away during your shifts, but your job is secure. You need it, Sam. Please don't cut everything out if I disgust you."

Sam's heart burned. He looked at the devastated expression on the other man's face. Nick didn't disgust him. He chewed his lip, sorry now for the outburst. He'd used mean words and insults, but he intended the central message. He was a product of his upbringing and his past. His status was his private business. He could not allow Nick to see him as some sort of baby-machine. However he knew he had flown off the handle. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. He didn't want to never see Nick again. He would miss him too much. He would hear him out. "Go on."

"Sam," there was gravity to Nick's tone, "I'm in my thirties. I've played the field. I've had one failed committed relationship. I'm done with fickle. I've wanted you since you walked in here last summer, nervous and desperate for work. But I also want to settle down with a carrier. In the future I'd like my own family. Not today or tomorrow but down the road. And I want that road to be with you. You are the one for me, Sam. I know this is heavy and I'm coming on too strong, but I'm here for you. I'll wait for you. I'll support you and I'll respect your choices. I mean it."

Sam huffed, "I need a minute."

He took a moment to steady himself. Nick hung his head and turned away. Sam tried to work out how he was meant to respond to a declaration of love, more precisely of love at first sight. He had to admit he had felt it, the attraction, the desire for Nick to notice him, to see him as more than an employee, a friend, or a kid.

"Can we sit?" Sam asked.

Nick looked at him with a spark of hope and gestured to the bar stools, neutral territory away from the scene of their intimacy.

"I will not be defined by my biology," Sam linked his fingers palm up on his lap and rolled his thumbs around each other. This time he was calm and rational. "I will not be labeled, put down, segregated or forgotten."

"Sam I would never," Nick made a breathy plea.

"I believe you. You mean it." Sam swallowed. "In my experience… my whole life… being a carrier was being a pussy, a weakling, pathetic."

"Who told you that?" Nick's eyes flashed with anger.

"My Dad," Sam whispered.

"He was wrong."

"I know that." Sam emphasized the personal pronoun. "I know, but I can't wave the rainbow flag, can't walk in here as a carrier seeking Ruby's ministrations."

Nick huffed, "I certainly hope you don't."

Sam gave a weak smile in response to Nick's effort at humorous indignation. "My life is a mess."

"I want to share that."

"You want me to spread my crap all over your perfect set-up."

Nick snorted, "I run a restaurant Sam. I go home late to an empty house. I schmooze the patrons. I see my accountant. I offer a bartender's ear to lonely dudes and regular locals. And some nights this wonderful handsome young man works the floor for me. He makes me laugh. He listens to my moans on deserted Mondays. His dimpled smiles warm my icy dried up heart."

Sam blushed.

"Let me help. Pour it all on me." Nick leaned back with his arms open wide.

Sam snickered. "Pour my crap on you? That's filthy dude."

Nick wrinkled his nose and laughed. "Go on, hit me."

"I had a crap day." Sam began. Already his chest was lightening. "Stressed and tired, I lashed out at you. I'm sorry, Nick."

Nick reached across and stroked the side of his hand.

"Dean had the appointment to meet his case worker. I had to skip my humanities class. Brady's notes aren't worth shit. He writes in gobbledygook. I don't know how he passes anything. I was almost late for Dean because out of the blue Prof Clancy announced he expected everyone to have read _Le Morte d'Arthur_ by next week. I hit the library too late and every book for loan was gone. I couldn't look at the reference copies because I had to collect Dean. I was pissed when I got home. I had no lunch. Meanwhile Dean had turned into Ty Pennington and renovated our bedroom. "

Nick snorted a laugh but raised his hands in apology.

"The case worker was fine. He seems a nice guy, working in the system but genuine, not jaded or going through the motions. He's coming to see our pad next week, make sure Dean isn't living in a doss house."

"But?" Nick prompted.

"Dean was wound tight through the whole thing. He was on the verge of a panic attack and I tried to soothe his fears, but I hadn't a clue what would go down. He didn't relax until we went to this chilled little coffee house he'd found. And then we were leaving and he linked my arm. It was real sweet, y'know. He was saying thanks and that he knew I had his back. And these punk assholes shouted abusive names after us. And I wanted to crush them like roaches. Dean had to stop me and remind me they were only stupid kids."

"Sheez Sam. You had the day from hell."

Sam shook his head wearily. "But that's just it Nick. It wasn't so special a day. Sure we met with Garth, the case worker. But on Friday Dean has his appointment at Stanford's mental health clinic. Wednesday last, I don't think he said an actual word all day." Sam reached up and massaged his forehead with his fingertips, "Don't get me wrong. I'd do anything. Any Thing. For Dean."

When he looked up Nick was planting a shot of Jameson on the counter. "Drink it. I'll give you a ride home."

"I have the Impala and class in the morning."

"I'll drop you to campus in the morning and pick you up later to collect your car."

Sam blinked. Nick lived in Moss Beach, at least 25 miles from the restaurant. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't. I offered. Now drink your medicine." Nick waved a playful finger.

"Why Mr. Alighieri I do believe you are serving liquor to a minor." Sam laughed and downed the whiskey in one. It burned in a good way.

"Bar's closed Sam." Nick laughed. "Come on, you can road test the shotgun seat of my Lexus. I promise no funny business."

Sam got the lights while Nick set the alarm. "I might be OK with a little funny business."

"You sure, Sam?" Nick checked, "I'm not only attracted to your body."

Sam snorted in disbelief, "I have such a beautiful mind."

"Much hotter than Russell Crowe." Nick crowded in next to Sam and slung an arm around his shoulders as he flicked the Lexus' central locking.

On the short ride to Palo Alto, Nick asked Sam to tell him about Dean.

"I mourned him for so long. It's like a dream every minute I spend with him. He is a wonderful amazing person. I mean, he could be bitter and twisted and angry but he's plain not. I know he's had years of therapy back in that place, but sometimes I feel that he is, I don't know, sad I suppose. But he has such strength Nick. He never let Dad knock him down. He could beat on him or scream at us and Dean would pick himself up, dust himself off and keep going. Always. And I'm like a leaf blowing in the wind next to him. How am I going to do this?"

"You are amazing Sam. Plenty of other siblings would have declined to take him with them in lieu of regular visits to Arkansas."

"That was Never an option once Dean wanted to leave." Sam shook his head. "You don't understand. Me and Dean we are all each other have, all we ever had."

Nick sneaked a glance across and caught Sam's eye, nodding for him to continue.

"It was the two of us against the world. And then he was gone and my world collapsed. Yesterday we went to the beach and Dean asked me about the years he missed out of my life. I dressed them up all pretty for him. Garnished to the hilt like the plates Baldur sends out when you do a tasting menu night. I told him about Mathletes and the Roman prize shortlist, about soccer and my scholarship and fumbling under William Paxman's shirts. But not about the loss and fear, being cold and hungry, scared that Dad would die in a DUI car wreck or in a drunk tank, or having to hide who I am from Dad for fear he would beat me to death or lock me away."

They had pulled into an empty space across the street from the house.

"Sam?"

"Uh-huh."

"I can't change the past. But I'll change the future with you if you'll let me."

Sam nodded. He gave Nick's hand a squeeze before climbing out. He was surprised when the Lexus didn't pull away but Nick wrapped his arms around his waist on the sidewalk. "Will you let me?"

"I'd like that. But you know Dean comes first, and my plate is pretty full to over flowing." Sam gave a sigh.

Nick stroked his cheek bone with the back of his curved fingers. "I know Sweetie."

"OK, Nick, not Sweetie. Sweetheart maybe, but not Sweetie." Sam protested in horror.

Nick silenced him with a firm kiss. "Noted. No fluffy pet names."

Sam planted a peck to Nick's cheek. "See you tomorrow. No need to come for my 9am class. Brady and I are capable of a twenty minute walk. Had to do it until I got the car. Will you pick me up on campus at 2 O'clock?"

"I'll see you then." Nick's fingers brushed his as they parted.

"Goodnight Nick."

The Lexus did not pull away until Sam was safely inside the house. It was close to midnight and Sam had no restaurant surplus. He tip toed to the bedroom. Dean was sitting in a bathrobe on the end of his futon looking out the window, which over looked the street, and the Lexus, and the sidewalk beside the Lexus.

"Where the 'pala?"

"Nick gave me a ride home. I'll get it tomorrow." Sam opened the top buttons of his work shirt and pulled it over his head, with his back turned so Dean wouldn't see the ripped button hole. "Don't fret. It's safe behind the restaurant."

"That was Nick?" Dean gasped. "Exploring your tonsils?"

Sam rounded on him. "Yes. That was Nick. So?"

"I thought… I guess… What age is he?"

"Thirty seven." Sam could see the cogs turning in Dean's brain.

Dean wet his lips.

"Don't Dean. Just don't. I know blah blah blah, I'll be 39 and he'll be 57. I'll be fifty and he'll be on a Zimmer."

To Sam's surprise Dean chuckled. "Didn't say you were marrying him. Was gonna say he's smitten."

Sam puffed and quirked a smile. "Yeah. I guess he is. Did you take your Ambien?"

Dean grunted. He stretched his body to reach over to the dresser. He waved the pill at Sam and then dry swallowed it.

Sam eye rolled. "I know, you were waiting for me. But I was OK Dean. And if I wasn't coming home I'd have called, I promise. Hey, you'd be good, wouldn't you, if I did stay over at friends' or whatever?"

Dean blew a raspberry and pointed out the window.

"Yeah, maybe Nick's place, or Zach's or if Brady wanted me to travel with the Lacrosse team?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah Sammy. I'm a big boy. I'm cool."

Sam saw the repeated lip moistening. He thought he'd have to take it slow. Make sure that Dean was comfortable to stay in the house without Sam and be able to reassure him that Sam would be fine wherever he stayed. Maybe not for a few more weeks, but it was important that they could both live their lives. As he tried to get comfortable in his wrong-way-facing bed, Sam hoped that when Dean started work and began to get to know people outside of Sam's circle, his big brother would develop his own interests. He loved spending his free time (and stolen free time) with Dean. Being with him would never get stale but he wanted more for Dean. He wanted him to find the life and the future he desired. As sleep stole over him, Sam thought of the future Nick desired, he heard the sound of the waves crashing outside Sam's imagined version of Nick's home and the feel of Nick's hand curled around his.

On Wednesday evening Dean was in the family room educating himself with a Buffy boxset, complementary commentary by Sarah Blake. Jess had gone off to some party at Pi Beta Phi. Andy was holding Ash's hand, or his roll-up, over at the comedy club. The housemates had been told there would be consequences if they didn't turn up to support Ash's fifteen minute stand-up debut. In the meantime Sam had his nose stuck in his huge illustrated Modernist Art text, trying to decide between a list of equally sucky essay choices. The pressure of maintaining his grade average caused his shoulders to slump. His cell did a dance across a Mondrian. He grabbed for it, thinking it might be Nick. His heart gave a skip at the idea that his _boyfriend_ could be calling because he was now in a _relationship._ The maturity of the whole scenario drew a nervy titter from him as he flipped open the cell.

**BOBBY**

"Oh crap." Sam hadn't called Bobby in over a week. There'd been the briefest of 'hello, we're safe, Dean is in California' exchanges because John was working in the shed with Bobby at the time. He pressed the call answer button with a flick of guilt and trepidation. "Hey Bobby."

"Don't you 'hey Bobby' me after your extended radio silence left me stewing in my own fricking juices."

Sam winced. He had known he was going to get chewed out.

Bobby huffed, "Your Daddy's gone. Took off with the rising sun. Elkins down in Manning has won some sort of contract and he needs an extra man. Even with his gimp leg seems it's all Semper Fi. Don't know how Elkins won a contract. He wouldn't win a pissing contest."

Sam choked a laugh. He remembered the chaos of Elkins Auto. "Daniel's called Dad in before when he's had extra work."

"Well the old fool is outta my hair." Bobby grunted. "Well? Give it to me."

"Huh?"

"How are my two best idjits?"

"Good Uncle Bobby. Things are good." Sam propped his elbow onto the desk.

Bobby hummed, "You can't kid a kidder, Boy."

"Dean is going great, considering. He has a visit with a psychiatrist Friday." Sam paused.

"And you Son?"

"I have good friends." He meant it. The way Jess, Brady, Sarah and Andy had taken Dean into their lives was something he would never forget.

"Good enough to lay your troubles across their shoulders to distribute the load?"

"I have someone." Sam's mechanical pencil lightly traced four letters beginning with N on the margin of his textbook.

"Glad to hear it. What about the cash flow?"

"Geez Bobby. You've given me too much already."

"Shut your mouth and answer the question."

Sam laughed out loud at the paradox. "I used a portion on our road trip home. The rest is put aside for any medical expenses that Dean's Medi-cal excludes."

"Any chance you putting the uncommunicative brat on the line?"

Sam chuckled knowing Bobby's gruff sense of humor. He shouted for Dean from the top of the stairs. His brother came rushing out to see what Sam wanted. Waving the cell in the air Sam called down that Bobby wanted to talk to him. Sam swapped rooms with Dean. If Dean did speak with Bobby, rather than listen to him, and Dean wanted to grouse about Sam, then his younger brother was going to give him his privacy.

He was surprised to see Jessica on the sofa.

"Thought you were over at the Greek House party?"

"Becca ran off with a Kappa Sigma upperclassman." Jess swung her legs across the arm of the sofa. "She can be true bitch when she's on the prowl."

"Awh poor Jessie-wessie." Sam teased as he pushed her ankles back and took the warm seat his brother had vacated. Sarah warned them they needed to get moving to catch Ash's act, before she disappeared to make up her face.

Sam bumped shoulders with his friend. "Hey Jess. You heard of this Doc Henricksen that Dean's gotta see?

Jessica stood and planted a hand on her hip, pursing her lips as if he was a hopeless case, "Psych-ol-o-gy. Psych-ci-at-ry."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know. I take classes."

"Huh," Jessica tutted at him, "only ones that compliment your supposedly pre-law Anthropology Major. But I'll dig around. I'll ask Jamie the clinical psychology TA."

"Thanks Jess. You're the best."

"Glad to hear you know it." Jessica punched his arm.

When Dean came down he was smiling, which Sam knew meant Bobby had done his magic. He wasn't going to pry, but he could guess that their surrogate uncle had reminded Dean that he was family and reassured him that not everyone shared John's blinkered views. Dean threw Sam's cell for him to catch. Then he headed for the kitchen and returned with three uncapped beers. Sam raised an eyebrow but Dean raised one finger to let Sam know he knew his limits. Dean clinked bottle necks with him with a smirking wink. Jess was speculating about whether Ash would phase out during his stint on stage when Sam got a text message from Bobby.

_Open invite 4 you boys. Dean accepted. 1 of them happy grunts. Expect U when U got a break._

Sam shot back a thank you. He didn't know if he'd be able to take the time during spring break but he imagined that Dean and he would take a trip to Sioux Falls during the summer. Then he had an idea and texted back that Bobby was welcome in Cali too. It felt good to know that Bobby was there for them, even if it was support from afar. It was like having an ultimate fallback plan. If everything blew up in his face they could drive to Sioux Falls and start over.

"We are taking my car?" Jess asked as she reapplied her gloss with this miniscule little brush that Sam had to squint to see properly.

Dean Uh-huh-ed.

Sam grinned at them both. "Dean's very faithful to the Impala."

That earned him as firm nod as Dean picked up their empties.

"And you were drinking over at Greek House."

Jessica flushed at being caught out, "I forgot your alcohol-radar. Fine, we'll take the muscle machine."

Sam heard the clatter of bottles and cans and then the rear door. Dean was putting out the recycling when Sam went to let down the blinds on the family room windows. There was guy talking to Dean. It was dark outside but under the street light Sam thought it was the barista from the coffee shop. He watched as the dark haired guy pointed to the south and Dean freaking posed at the garbage bins. Only Dean could work a trash can like a centerfold model. Then Dean was nodding before ducking his head. The barista beamed at him. Sam took a pace back so he wouldn't be spotted but he watched the other man walk across the street to the astrologer's house. The barista and the neighbor and therefore 'cute guy' were the one and the same person. Sam was glad to see his brother interacting with a stranger in such a natural way, even if the flirting was making his eyes burn. The guy waved goodbye from his lawn and Dean lifted a hand to salute him. Sam shut his mouth before he caught flies. He schooled his features so Dean wouldn't know he had been spying. Jessica threw her hands up at the two of them and got her coat, before they headed out to a surprisingly funny set by Andy's wasted best friend.

Friday night, Sam's place of work felt like it was living up to its name. Sam had been a sanctioned 15 minutes late. They had left Brady waiting in the engine idling Impala, while Sam accompanied Dean to the out patients clinic of Stanford Mental Health. There was enough time to make sure Dean had all the correct forms and would be called in to see Dr Henricksen on the hour. His brother was stoic and shooed Sam off to work. Sam supposed that seeing a psychiatrist was one of the more familiar tasks Dean had undertaken since he arrived in Palo Alto. He still wished he could have sat outside until Dean came out, but he had taken so much time off work already, and Dean wouldn't hear of it. Jess would collect Dean at 6.15pm after his appointment, so he didn't have to make his way back to the house alone. She had been good as her word too and sought out the intel on Henricksen. He was some bigwig on mood disorders and took on a limited number of clients. Jessica suggested someone had pulled strings to get Dean on his list. Sam thought he might have to send a Thank You card to Layla Rourke or Richard Deacon if everything worked out well. Sam had taken a minute to press his head against the Impala's wheel, hit by the horribleness and suckiness of leaving his brother at a shrink's office. Brady could be trusted not to rat Sam out for his moment of weakness. His worried friend offered to drive to Menlo Park but Sam had patted his forearm, put on his game face and promised he was good to go.

The night only got worse as it was completely, totally and craptastically hectic at The Gates of Hell. There was a queue for tables and people waiting at the bar for the first sitting to finish their meals. Lilith had called in sick with a migraine. Sam felt like he was chasing his tail. Every time he ventured into the steaming hot kitchen Baldur was blue in the face and swearing in Norwegian at Brady and the part-time sous chef. Brady kept making stabbing in the back gestures when the chef wasn't looking. It was so manic that Lucifer relegated Ruby to the end of the bar and he took over the hosting and table clearing duties from Sam and Meg. Every spare pica of a second Sam got he fretted about Dean's appointment. As the final orders went to the kitchen, Nick pulled Sam by the hand down the corridor, beyond the customer restrooms and into the staff room. They didn't sit. There wasn't time before Meg would explode at being left on her own. Sam was wrapped in strong arms and then the back of his head was cradled and a soft kiss pressed to his lips. Sam marveled that his icky and gross shirt, that was stuck to his back with perspiration, hadn't put Nick off.

"What was that for?" He whispered as Nick eased into a more casual hug.

"You needed it."

It was true. Sam planted a quick caress on Nick's cheekbone. "Thanks."

"Don't worry. I am sure your brother will be fine, and as soon as the desserts are out, you can rescue Brady from the wrath of Chef and head home."

There was a scream for "Lucifer" from outside the door. Nick reluctantly pulled away to put his hand on the doorknob. Sam felt the loss of contact.

"And there blows Mount St Helena."

Sam chuckled at the description of Meg's lung capacity which was miraculous for such a pixie sized person. He got through the last hour of the night focused on how despite the craziness, he would not be late home. He placated Meg's daggered pout by promising to be in early in the morning to get the place ready for lunch service. Meg gave grudging thanks, knowing that she didn't have to stay to fill salt shakers or origami the napkins.

The lights were off in their bedroom. Sam had presumed Dean would be awake but his brother was making gurgling snores face down on his futon. There was a note on his pillow. Sam snagged it and his towels to take to the bathroom. With the shower running Sam unfolded the sheet of paper. There was a pornographic sketch of two male anatomies and a note that read -  
_Off to never never land. Hope you got some action._

Sam didn't know whether to burn the note or save it. He did make sure not to leave it in the communal bathroom for Brady or Andy to find, or even worse one of the girls. Jess and Sarah had a Jack and Jill bathroom between their bedrooms, but they were known to grace the main one for a soak in the tub.

On Saturday morning Sam woke before his alarm. His bleary eyes took in the open closet door, the bright morning sun and his brother's half naked form. As he came to awareness he observed that Dean was trying on all the clothes.

"Hey Zoolander?" Sam croaked from under his comforter.

Dean swung round with a shit faced grin, "Morning Sammy. I saw that movie, Bitch."

"Well Jerk-ette, why is our room like Alicia Sliverstone's walk-in-closet?"

"Got a date." Dean beamed and examined Sam's Cardinals hoodie.

Sam shot up in the bed. "A what?"

"D-A-T-E." Dean spelled out before pulling the zip hoodie on over his brown Henley and new thrift store black denims.

"With the cute guy?" Sam gaped.

Dean clicked his fingers and tongue. He stuck his fingers into a pot of gel that he must have bought without Sam noticing and proceeded to spike up his hair.

"Wait. Dean," Sam swung his legs out of bed and ran a hand through his scarecrow like bed-hair. "Tonight? Like going out for drinks? Like to a club?"

Dean looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"What? Isn't that you over twenty-ones do?" Sam pressed his palms together and took a breath. It was too early for this. He wanted to sit down with his brother over breakfast and hear about the psychiatrist. He didn't want to have to deal with this feeling of protectiveness. He remembered what Naomi and Layla had said about institutionalized patients being vulnerable and at risk. He pictured Dean having a panic attack in some San Francisco club with a thumping DJ set, while Sam was in Menlo Park pulling out chairs for coiffeured ladies and manicured twinks. Sam imagined the barista shouting at Dean when he became impatient with his silence. He visualized going across the street and beating on the corner house door until the dude appeared and he could threaten him with extreme violence if he hurt Dean. Sam gulped. He was working himself up into his own panic attack.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's mattress and waited for him to breathe.

"A coffee date." Dean soothed, speaking slowly which Sam suspected was deliberately for his benefit, "In the middle of the day. Cas's gotta work at six."

"Cas?" Sam asked, "Like Casper?"

Dean grinned and carefully pronounced, "Cas-ti-el."

"Dude better not be as weird as his name." Sam grumbled. His morning alarm began but he hit the button on his cell to stop the blaring noise. "You'll have your cell with you all day? Turned on?"

"Yes, Sam." Dean drawled in a mocking tone.

"And if you can't get me, call Andy, and he'll pick you up in his van, or you can call the restaurant, or maybe the bookstore will let Jess take a call…"

"Coff-Eee." Dean threw his eyes up to heaven.

"Sure Dean. " Sam said as he went on a search for clean boxer briefs. "I bet that's what Ted Bundy said too."

This time Dean roared with laughter and bent double. "Good one. Sammy."

Sam wasn't sure that he had been joking. His brother was nearly twenty four years old. He could go out for coffee with a man if he wanted. All the same, he thought he'd ask Nick if he could keep his cell in his pocket on silent mode.

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Next Chapter is Dean's POV, including his appointment with Victor and his date with Castiel.


	7. Six

If Sam wanted to twist his panties into fat knots too big for his gigantor fingers to undo, then Dean was not enabling his behavior. Dean rolled his eyes again wondering if he did it much more would he chance losing his corneas into his brain. Sam had fussed like bee over a pollen-fest, checking Dean was 'good' and that he knew Jessica would be there to collect him after his appointment. He had to practically wrestle him out the door of the waiting area. He would have given Sam a shove only the beady eyed secretary was watching his every move. Maybe she was one of those spying types who reported everything you did back to the doctors. He was glad he had palmed a Xanax into his mouth under the cover of a cough while Brady distracted Sam with a tale from the restaurant. Brady worked Thursdays and had witnessed some epic spat between Lilith and Crowley which he said sang with unresolved sexual tension.

All the same when Sam did leave Dean behind, on his own, in the outer office, under the bright lights, with the hatchet faced secretary, Dean's palms dampened and he fiddled with his watch strap and the studs of his cuffs. This room smelled of Glade, but the pervasive hospital odor of the clinic irritated Dean's nostrils. At precisely 5 O'clock, just as Dean was contemplating relieving his dry mouth with one of the cone shaped paper cups stacked beside the water cooler, the office door opened. A tall black guy with a blue shirt, red striped tie and a goatee beard strode across the space with his hand extended. Dean gulped and stood. His hand was taken with a firm shake.

"Victor Henricksen. And you must be Dean. Come on in."

Dean nodded. His feet dragged. All the progress he had made fled. He cringed as he shuffled behind the psychiatrist, detesting his walk but unable to make his legs move any faster. He could feel the eyes of the secretary burning his skin. Victor held the door open for him. Dean sneaked a glance but the doctor's face was professional and impassive.

"Please." Victor gestured towards an actual couch. Dean almost snorted. He had sat in a chair with a desk between he and Layla unless they were in a circle at group. Dean chewed on his lip once his back was to the psychiatrist. He sat rigidly on the edge. He thought the leather was raw sienna, or maybe closer to the tubes of burnt yellow ochre in the art materials locker of his old ACIC classroom. Either way was the color was fugly. He took in the wall of shelves to his left that sagged from the weight of books. Long windows spilled sunlight into a room that could have been dark and claustrophobic. There was a heavy rich wood desk closer to those windows. Dr Henricksen sat on an ergonomic leather swivel chair between it and Dean. He had access to pens, notepad and files on a side table that matched the height of the chair arms. He seemed to be waiting for Dean to settle. If he was waiting for Dean to speak it was going to be a long 75 minutes.

"Dean?"

Looking up, Dean saw the doctor pick up his A4 sized pad and a heavy chrome pen that possibly cost the amount of Dean's monthly welfare check. He held a better examination of the man across from him. Dean thought he could benefit from losing a few pounds, but maybe he was all muscle. He noticed the goatee had these wings that ran along the jaw line up to the ears. He bit down on his lip stifling a laugh at his own inventive thought that all the dude's hair had migrated from his head to the bottom of his face.

"I'd like it if you would call me Victor. May I call you Dean, rather than Mr. Winchester?"

Dean moistened his lips and nodded. Informality meant bupkiss, didn't make someone any more trustworthy.

"Dr Rourke has forwarded your files to me and we have spoken of your case."

Dean smiled at the memory of Layla's joy when he left the hospital. This seemed to encourage Victor to continue.

"I hope that we will be able to build a therapeutic relationship. During our sessions I am open to any issues or difficulties you wish to share. I am not reporting to anyone." Victor leaned forward a touch, "There is no director monitoring your file. I have no obligation to your case worker. My only obligation is to you, my client. I would like you to think about what you hope to gain from our time together. There is no need to answer today."

Dean narrowed his eyes. He was listening but suspending judgment. He wrapped his left hand around his right cuff. Victor's eyes tracked his movement.

"In the interest of openness and honesty, I will tell you that I have studied the Godwin Report. As a matter of fact I utilize the report in classes with my senior interns. I know you are the patient referred to as D.W."

The breath was sucked out of Dean's lungs. He had never read the report but he knew he had a starring role. Victor knew all his humiliating history. He lifted his chin and although his returning breath shuddered he did not break eye contact.

"I wish to say that it is a pleasure to see you in my office. Your recovery is quite remarkable."

Dean double blinked.

"You must have great reserves of strength and character."

Dean turned a snort into a nasal sniff. He was all parts broken glass and nightmares inside, not a well of strength and character. His Dad used to try and build his character with a cracking belt and a strong fist. If he was back in ACIC he'd go to his room now and look out the window, stroking Spider's leaves.

"I would like to begin with closed questions."

Dean gave a head nod of assent. On the surface it was safe and easy for Dean to nod, headshake or make a non-committal hand gesture. Layla had been supreme with her closed questions, getting through layers of Dean's defenses with carefully worded probing.

"I have your medication profile. Did you take your anxiolytic this morning, your Ambien CR last night?"

That was too easy. Dean wondered if he was being lulled into a false sense of security.

"I see you have Xanax to take at your own discretion. Did you take any today?"

Dean nodded.

"How many?"

Dean raised one finger. The stern gaze of the psychiatrist softened. Dean felt like he had passed some sort of test.

"I would like to order a range of blood work. Not today. If you could come early to our next appointment one of the clinic nurses will take samples. Long term use of SSRIs can affect kidney function, so we will be monitoring that."

Dean used to have his blood taken by the 'vampires' back at ACIC but they never bothered to explain why. He listened attentively to Victor's plans for them to have an hour long session every second week, a description of the out-patient facilities available to him, and a mood disorder group that Victor would put his name down for if Dean was interested.

"I will renew your scripts. How would you feel about an adjustment to your sleeping pills?"

Dean shrugged.

"The controlled release Ambien CR aids you to fall into sleep but adds a sedative effect to keep you under during the night. It is not recommended for prolonged use. Would you be prepared to try a medication without this effect?"

Dean looked down. He wasn't sure. The night he had skipped his Ambien on the journey to California he had experienced a night terror. However the CR part of the meds was a reason he couldn't drive. The feel of the Impala's wheel under his hands helped him to decide. He could always ask for the other meds if he had trouble. Then he thought of waking Sammy with his nightmares, but if he didn't try he'd never get to be a normal person. Finally he nodded.

"Good. We'll stick with Ambien, as you are not recorded as suffering from any side effects. I'm writing you a low dose, 5mg." Victor eased back into his seat. He tapped his pen on the side of his pad. "Your last psychiatrist used Art Therapy."

Dean bobbed his head, although that had not been a question.

"It is not my area of expertise, however if you wish to bring any drawings to our sessions, I would be interested in seeing them. I would like you to keep a journal for me."

Dean huffed at the notion of keeping a diary. Layla had given him notebooks but he filled them with doodles and dried leaves.

"Not to record each moment of your life." Victor explained, "I don't need the brand of breakfast cereal or if it rained on a Tuesday. I'd like you to record significant incidents."

Dean furrowed his brow wondering what that meant.

"Significant to you. When you need Xanax, if you achieve a personal milestone, or had a bad day or a great one…. There is no incorrect answer as to what to write." Victor got up. Dean craned his neck to see what the doctor was doing. He offered Dean an A5 size slim black book with a sky-blue elastic attachment to keep it closed.

"I see you developed selective mutism aged four following the death of your mother."

Dean settled into the sofa. They were on standard territory here. Every shrink had wanted to know about his Momma.

"Your grandfathers filed a complaint with Kansas CPS."

Dean shot up in his seat. His jaw dropped.

Victor tilted his head, "You didn't know?" He checked the file, "Samuel and Dean Campbell, in respect of suspected neglect by their son-in-law John Winchester of their five year old and eight month old grandsons. CPS case worker appointed. Treatment recommended for Dean Winchester. The family moved to Blue Earth, Minnesota in March 1984 where Mr. Winchester had secured employment."

His Pawpaw and Granddaddy had tried to help him. He remembered after the fire when Sammy had to stay in the hospital because of all the black stuff in his lungs. Dean had stayed with his Momma's daddies. There had been a terrible fight. The words had faded from Dean's memory but Granddaddy and Dad had come to blows. Pawpaw had cried when he had packed Dean's school bag with his new clothes and a few family photographs. They didn't leave Lawrence for some time after that but it was the last time he'd seen his grandfathers.

"Mr. Fitzgerald pointed out that you had never learned ASL. He can arrange a tutor."

Dean held up his palm. He wasn't going there. Hand waggling was for pathetic losers, his father had taught him that, and he had gotten on just fine without it.

"Your father raised you on his own?"

That produced a snort.

"Would you say you had a fractious relationship with your father?"

Dean glared at the shrink. If he had his files then he knew that John had signed him away.

"What about your brother Samuel? You are living with him."

"Sam." Dean corrected and wet his lips.

"Sam then." Victor gave him a blinding smile. "Tell me about Sam."

There was silence. Dean didn't know where to start. He didn't know if the words would come. "I c-carried him out of the f-fire."

Start at the beginning was a good strategy. Victor nodded encouragingly.

"He's a great kid. He's clever and kind and tall. He's on a sch-scholarship here." Dean rubbed circles with his thumb on the back of his other hand. There was no trembling. He could see Sam's supportive concerned look and his dimpled smile when Dean made him laugh. "He's a carrier, like me. He's gay, but our Dad doesn't know. Don't think he knows Sam can carry."

"Have you the same sexual preference?"

"I like people, y'know, like the person."

"I know you were hospitalized at a young age, but had you formed any serious relationships?"

The name dried up on his tongue. He opened his mouth to say Aaron, but his stomach clenched and he gulped air.

"Let's put that question aside, shall we?"

Dean nodded gratefully.

"You were telling me about Sam. Do you think you have been relying on him?"

What did that mean? Was it a criticism or checking that Dean had someone to rely on? He stayed silent.

"You left Eureka Springs with him two weeks ago." The psychiatrist stated.

"He saved me." Dean whispered. He knew Victor's ears had caught his words when the pen flew across his paper.

"Did you consider that you needed saving? That you would not have left ACIC without his intervention?"

Dean considered his answer. He chewed on his lip. "No one came to save me in the Bad Days." The shake returned to his hands. He grabbed his left fingers with his right hand and willed them steady. "I lived in the ward, not the c-cabins. They said I needed support. I had no f-family. Too damaged for a half-way house."

"I think they may have underestimated you." Victor commented. "Tell me about your PSTD nightmares. Are they focused on the conditions of your initial years in the hospital?"

With a hard swallow Dean nodded, "And before."

There was the heart ripping one which was a distorted memory of his Dad leaving him behind in Batesville hospital. In reality there had been a harsh shoulder pat and a 'behave yourself boy' before John left Dean at the mercy of the system. In the dream John's face was transformed into disgust. He would spit on Dean's so slightly rounded pregnancy bump. His shoulder pat became a clawed tearing off of his skin. The rib bruise from where Sam had Karate Kid high-kicked him blossomed, swelled, and joined up with the old faded marks of his father's fingers on his upper arms. The discoloration grew until Dean's whole body was yellowed and purpled. John screamed into his face how worthless and dumb he was. He spat vile insults and said that he was baggage and it was high time he was discarded in favor of his favorite son. And all the time the dream provided a sensory amplification of the body rocking cramps that had meant his baby was checking out too.

Dean became aware that he must have vocalized at least some of that particular nightmare when Victor passed him a Kleenex.

"You're good, Man." Dean muttered then huffed his bewilderment at his unintentional opening up.

"Pardon?"

"Got me to mention the kid." Dean puffed his chest out. His scars tingled. He drew his lips into a thin line. "I don't wanna talk about it. It's private."

Victor nodded. "Would I be correct in presuming that you did not receive bereavement counseling after your miscarriage?"

"Not going there, but yeah, ya'would." Dean gave a harsh laugh, "Too busy locking up the dangerous crazy person."

"Do you label yourself as crazy?"

Dean dropped his head and shook it. The last two and a half years with Layla as his therapist, and his sessions with Deacon, and getting his GED, had overwritten all the malicious words of those who had abused him. "No Doc, but it's not all peaches and pies in here."

Victor hummed, "We are almost done for today. Can I ask how things are at home? With your brother's friends?"

"Fine."

"It takes an effort of will to adapt to new situations, especially for those who have lived in a structured environment. What do you do when your brother is at classes? And he works, yes?"

With another nod Dean described how he was exercising his freaking dumb legs and attempting to find his bearings in Palo Alto. Victor explained that he had been briefed on Dean's psychosomatic legacy and the improvements he had made. He asked if regular walks helped.

"It's better. I draw too, and…" Dean looked beyond Victor through the windows to the darkening sky. "I met a guy."

The whites of Victor's eyes grew large. Dean quirked the corner of his lip. That had caught the major league psychiatrist by surprise.

"A friend of your brother?"

Dean gave a proud headshake. He had met Castiel all by himself.

"Have you commenced relations with him?"

Dean flushed. His chest tightened. He didn't want Victor to form the wrong idea. He wasn't one of those ACIC guys who ended up with a string of differently fathered kids living on welfare. "I… I'm not a sl… a slut."

"Please Dean. Take a moment." Victor stood to pour Dean a tumbler of water from a pitcher on his desk. "I do not jump to conclusions. Why would you think that I would presume you are promiscuous?"

That comment earned an A-grade snort. Dean wondered who Victor thought he was kidding talking to a guy freshly released from a Daddy and Baby home. "Some people think carriers are…"

"I see." Victor steepled his fingers. "Be assured that I do not share such preconceptions. This man? Are you dating?"

"He wants to meet me for coffee. He's seen me walking and heard me stutter, and he still wants to." Dean marveled.

Victor smiled. "Well our time is up. I'd like very much to hear about your date at our next session."

When Victor shook his hand in farewell, Dean responded with a warm smile. The dude wasn't so bad. He hadn't poked too deeply for gruesome details of the bad days in ACIC, nor prodded for particulars of the suicide attempts, nor tried to dissect Dean's miscarriage, nor drilled into John's homophobic and abusive regime of child-rearing. Dean wasn't so naïve to think that Victor wouldn't want to address those issues in more detail later. Layla had shown him how his anxiety and low self-esteem linked back to the events of his life. However it was a good start and he was able to give Jessica a nonchalant wink with good humor. His buoyant mood endured having to ride shotgun in a cotton candy pink VW Beetle.

Ash and Andy were holding a tribute to Wayne's World with a bong and a plaid and denim wearing chick called Tracy who looked like the female version of Ash. Jessica offered to keep Dean company in the kitchen but he knew she had an assignment due. Sarah had cooked up a chili before heading out. There were soft tortillas and a pot of soured cream. After they had eaten he retreated to the bedroom. There was no movement from the corner house across the street. He sketched his spider plant on the inside of the front cover of his new journal. Victor had never said he couldn't illustrate it. He didn't write anything. What was the point in writing about the session? He wondered how Sam was getting on at work. Maybe he'd stay later and steal some time with Nick. Dean flicked his fingers against his arm cuff. Nick was a lot older than Sammy, a helluva lot older. Sam had mentioned that he wanted to show Dean his place of work. Perhaps he could make sure that they went when the boss would be there. Dean wanted to meet him and look him straight in the eye. He needed to see more of Nick than a glimpsed kiss from the window. Then he would discover if Nick Alighieri was a user and a creep, or maybe that the older man was infatuated and adoring of his little brother. If there was anyone in the western hemisphere who knew better than Dean not to judge a book by its cover, he'd like to shake their hand. Dean had experienced Nurse White with her pretty face and baby-doll smile, who had a penchant for hissed threats, and her main target Ronald, huge and fumbling with an alien abduction delusion, who had defied expectations to take his beloved twin daughters home soon into the new regime at ACIC.

Dean sat yoga style on his futon and read some of the book Brady had loaned to him. Being Dead was a weird story about bodies decomposing but it was riveting. It made him slightly worried about Brady's choice in literature. He put the book aside to check an incoming text message.

_Dean would you like 2 meet for that coffee tomoro?_

The cell bleeped again.

_This is Castiel btw._

Dean chuckled. On Wednesday when he had run into Castiel as he put out the bottles and cans, Dean had been propositioned for a 'date that was mutably suitable'. He had given a blushing nod in response. Since then there had been a fluttering of exchanged texts. Castiel had informed him that his cousin Balthazar wanted Dean's star sign. When the Aquarius responded Castiel sent back _Virgo_ and an apology. Dean had texted for Castiel's opinion on Dr Sexy MD, but had to wait several hours for a querying response as to whether Dean recommended the show for Castiel's enjoyment. There had also been a terse expletive followed by a comment on the lack of road manners that drivers showed to cyclists. In response to that one Dean promised to follow full road user etiquette when he got behind the wheel.

His fingers tingled as he tapped out his response, _What time? At Beans?_

_Beans?_

_I truncated it_

_Oh. Not there. A special place. Collect U at 11? If you wish._

_Sure Cas_

_You truncated me_

Dean feared he had offended Castiel. His hand hovered over the keypad to type out an apology.

Another text alert … _I like it_

Dean fist pumped. He had a date. Cas liked the nickname.

He scooted to the kitchen for a celebratory soda. The wasted crew had gone. Dean took possession of the sofa and watched some flash cop show with undercover burgling lesbians. He was swamped by a wave of tiredness at the end of his long day. Maybe attending Dr Henricksen had hit him harder than he thought. He'd planned to stay awake for Sam, but gave up trying to read some more of the dead couple in the sand dunes. His mind was powering down. He did a quick rude but prank level brilliant sketch of two swollen dicks and left it as a gift with a goodnight message on Sammy's pillow. He popped his Ambien CR with only a flicker of speculation about how he would get on with the plain Ambien when he began is new scripts. Under his face his pillow was soft and inviting. The last image behind his eyelids was of Castiel knocking on the door to take him out.

When the event happened the following morning, there was a firm triple rap of their door knocker. There was also a hovering younger brother in the kitchen. Dean hissed that he didn't need a send off. It was a first (hopefully meaning there would be more) date.

"Well whatever you do don't arrange a second date for Friday." Sam grumbled with his mouth full of his late breakfast bacon and eggs.

Dean shot a querying look over his shoulder.

"Your birthday, dumbass." Sam glared.

Dean took a step closer to the hallway but his jaw dropped.

"I've swapped with Meg," Sam called after him, "I'm working Thursday instead and I have plans."

Dean blurted his surprised thanks while donning his jacket and pulling the hood out from under his denim collar. He hoped Sam meant grabbing a burger and maybe a beer, not some sort of hoopla.

When he opened the door he found Castiel waiting with an awkward stance, hands in pockets. He wore tight blue jeans, a plain grey pullover and an old black leather jacket. Dean ran his eyes over the apparel with appreciation. Castiel's weekday suit and his barista polo shirt did not do him justice.

"Hello Dean," came with a blinding smile.

Dean could feel his eyes crinkle as he mirrored the expression.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked.

Dean nodded and closed the door. He was good to go.

The day was pleasant. Not too cold with a few high wispy clouds. Castiel expressed his hope that Dean would enjoy their destination. As they walked past Beans' steamed up window Dean caught Castiel's eye.

"We are going by Caltrain." Castiel supplied.

It wasn't much further to the station but Dean worried that he was slowing down their progress. He mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Castiel's step faltered, "Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm delaying you," Dean scuffed his boots on the sidewalk.

Castiel's head tilted like a bird perched on a twig, "Do you have somewhere else to be today?"

"No. Nowhere." Dean rushed to answer. He hoped he was misreading the taint of feared rejection in Castiel's eyes.

"I have no other plans, save for my commitment to my evening shift at the coffee shop. There is no urgency. I am happy to walk beside you. OK?"

Dean nodded. He stepped a little closer to his companion. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere unique. I hope you will like it."

Castiel purchased their tickets and guided Dean to adjoining seats. Dean offered to reimburse Castiel but was refused in lieu of his date promising that Dean could pay for the tickets for a short bus journey that lay ahead.

"I had hoped to be able to take my cousin's battered Aspire. He is inexplicably attached to the horrible example of automotive engineering. Unfortunately he has to attend one of his 'ladies' this afternoon." Castiel caught Dean's brow wrinkle, "Yeah, right. It's weird but I feel I know you already and I forget we haven't learned much about one another. It's illogical and irrational and just the sort of 'meeting of souls' spiel that Balthazar panders."

Dean grinned. He was enjoying the way Cas had not presumed he was slow or hard of hearing. He was straight and honest in his speech, awkward and sort of geeky in his presence and clothing, and all round cute. Dean especially liked the dark shadow of barely there stubble on his jaw and upper lip. He watched those pink lips move as he spoke.

"You know my cousin owns Harmonies in the mall. He has a 'readings' room in the back that he rents out to touring tarot readers and psychics, but mostly he uses it to see those whose astrological charts he has cast. He also has a few select clients who prefer private consultations in their grand homes." Castiel sighed heavily and took his eyes from Dean to head shake at the passing scenery. "You must think I live with a charlatan and an opportunist."

Dean patted Castiel's knee to regain his attention. He shook his head. Astrology, crystals, herbs, and whatever weren't things he had any faith in, but he held an 'each to their own' philosophy. If it got someone through the day then what harm was there.

Castiel shrugged. "I have made numerous attempts to convince Balthazar that the position of distant celestial bodies cannot influence a person's destiny. We have come close to falling out about it. He will laugh, call me Cassie, and tell me that Science teacher is an excellent profession for a Virgo."

"Teacher huh?" Dean pouted his bottom lip in consideration.

"Not yet. I need to graduate. Now I bet you are trying to puzzle out why a twenty-five year old has not qualified yet."

Dean wasn't, but before he could comment Castiel had continued.

"I had family troubles back East. I transferred to Stanford after my sophomore year. Balthazar offered me a place to live. It is long rather depressing story. It took me another four years to complete my degree while working full time at Light Up Your Beans and covering shifts at Harmonies. My teen dreams of discovering the Castiel Fletcher particle or solving the mysteries of dark matter morphed into hopes for a career inspiring the next Stephen Hawking or Carl Sagan. I love teaching. Every day brings a new challenge but an exciting one. The reluctant students fade when an enthusiastic young mind displays an interest and a desire for discovery."

Watching Castiel's fire burn, Dean could see how he had the ability to inspire a love of science in teenagers receptive to his message. It was an admirable job to undertake.

"The program is intense. I teach mornings in Menlo Park. Afternoons there are seminars on campus. There are papers to be graded, lesson plans to be built, and I help run the school drama club. But it is my calling, I think." Castiel smiled with such self-assurance that Dean wanted to grab a little piece of that energy and hoard it for himself. "What about you Dean? I did not see you at the students' house during Fall semester. Have you moved to Palo Alto recently?"

"After the holidays. I was in Arkansas." Dean's tongue traced his bottom lip, "I came to live with Sam."

Castiel made a comment about never having been to Arkansas as the train pulled into Tamien. His organized approach to their bus transfer impressed Dean, who could have figured it out but found that some of these everyday interactions were foreign to him after so many years. They exchanged few words as they sat behind two women bemoaning the rising cost of groceries. Soon there was a short walk to their final destination. Castiel had been reluctantly forced to reveal it when a fellow passenger had asked if they were alighting for the History Park. The student teacher explained he had found the tourist attraction during his initial job hunt in California. He had failed to be called back for a second interview, but had returned to view the exhibits.

Castiel had some sort of frequent flyer admission and once more Dean was not permitted to open his wallet. He resolved to settle their check for the promised coffees. The history park was in fact awesome. Being a Saturday there were plenty of other visitors, many among them families enjoying a day out. However the park was spacious and well planned so Dean did not feel confined or overwhelmed. The exhibits were reconstructed originals or copies of late 1800s and early twentieth century buildings. Dean felt he had seen examples in many small towns and cities during his childhood. There was a bank, post office, doctor's and dentist's surgeries, and a pristine steam locomotive. Castiel enthused about the one-roomed school and Dean lingered in the fire house and gas station. They walked the narrow street with the cool three globed street lights. There was a Truman Show vibe as they took a turn down a row of period houses. Amongst the other tourists who strolled along moving slowly reading the exhibits' educational panels, Dean felt like they fitted in. He sneaked his fingers between Castiel's and found his hand gripped tightly. Their arms swung as Castiel walked at Dean's pace. He pointed out little details on the houses and the fake streets. Dean learned about pioneer architecture and the genetic breeding of modern roses. The way Castiel shared knowledge was endearing. Dean listened closely to the deeply spoken words.

Victor had mentioned being adaptable. Today proved that breaking new ground was doable. Sam was back in Menlo Park, possibly freaking about Cas being a serial killer. Dean's heart was calm, relaxed and even. He had no anxiety palpitations amid all the new places, strangers and running children. Castiel felt like a pillar of strength at his side. The attractive intelligent man holding his hand had allowed a brief hinted glimpse at his own pain and history but there was an aura of solid resilience that inspired Dean to stand taller and not falter.

Back on the main street, Castiel led Dean into a reconstructed hotel and ice-cream parlor. It was like something out of a 1950s movie set. Kids jumped up and down asking for treats but few families took a table. Most wanted take out and to enjoy their cones and cups as they walked. Castiel and Dean took a red checkered table for two, between a long haired teen brunette with turquoise nails who tapped on her phone, and a ginger receding haired bespectacled man finishing his coffee. Dean wondered if they were both refugees from family parties. Two ladies took the corner table talking about a mutual friend's affair while their two overtly well behaved little girls hung on every word. In the background Ella Fitzgerald sang about blue skies.

Dean's hot fudge sundae had been consumed and Castiel hadn't run screaming at what Sam dubbed his brother's disgusting eating habits. Castiel had made short work of his own malted milkshake. On his date's recommendation they were adding café mochas to their significant sugar and chocolate intake, when Castiel cleared his throat.

"Can I ask you something Dean?"

Dean gave him a querying hum.

Castiel moistened his lips before he asked, "Did you have a stroke?"

Dean knew his eyes must have widened to saucers because Castiel's hands fluttered as he backtracked with an apology. "I'm sorry, Dean. That was presumptuous of me. My Father suffered a stroke. He was affected down his left side. I see you walking to the park and I wondered if it was part of your physiotherapy program."

Dean reached across the table and touched Castiel's slender fingers. "I… huh…" He gulped. Castiel waited patiently his eyes trained on Dean's face, "I… have an anxiety disorder and have trouble speaking. Sometimes I don't, at all, Cas."

Castiel smiled his pearly whites. "So all these words we've exchanged. They've been like rare? Special?"

Dean felt a blush rising and shrugged a yes.

"Well I'm privileged and honored."

Dean checked if he was being mocked but there wasn't a trace of sarcasm. Castiel looked almost smug. Dean grinned at him. Their server came with their powdered chocolate sprinkled drinks. It was a great mocha. Dean moaned around the caffeine and chocolate combination.

"I see you are a fellow connoisseur. I like a man who can appreciate a good coffee."

"Me too, Cas." Dean smirked.

On the way home they discussed nostalgia for things lost and why people like to be reminded of times past. There was the academic and historical interest but the park had been aimed at the personal and social history of its visitors. Castiel confessed that the scent of Lily of The Valley in the hotel had reminded him of his mother. Dean closed his eyes and was back in a kitchen in Lawrence that was filled with baking aromas.

"My Mom smelled of apple pie. Even her hair was apple-scented, but I guess that was her shampoo." Dean smiled.

"Is she no longer with us?" Castiel asked gently, his voice deep but soft.

"I was four."

"I am sorry Dean." Castiel shifted closer on his train seat. "Losing a parent is a devastating loss."

"Are yours?" Dean felt that perhaps he should have asked when Castiel had mentioned his father's stroke.

"My parents are no longer in my life." Castiel answered with a shuttered expression.

Dean didn't press. He understood being reluctant to talk. Instead he took possession of Castiel's arm again. He laid his head on Castiel's shoulder for the final few stops before Palo Alto. They hadn't kissed. It hadn't been that kind of date. Dean remembered fumbled frantic first date embraces in the back row of small town cinemas. Dean imagined their carriage devoid of other passengers and Castiel twisting in his seat, taking Dean's jaw in his hand and opening up his mouth with a determined and passionate caress.

Their hands found each other on the short walk back to Cowper Street. Castiel expressed a wish that he did not have go to work, and asked if Dean would be amenable to meeting again, perhaps for a meal.

"So Dean Vs. Ice Cream did not discourage you." Dean snickered.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to parse the humor in Dean's joking comment. "Not at all. I am afraid I work on Sundays. Monday is a holiday. Lunch?"

"Sam has commanded a House Scrubbing Day." It was in anticipation of Garth's visit, but Castiel didn't know about that. "But I might be able to slip out for an hour."

"Sandwiches at mine then? Text me. I'll be home with my lesson plans."

Dean surprised Castiel with a hearty goodbye hug. Castiel stiffened before wrapping his arms around Dean's neck.

"I'm not used to such affection." Castiel muttered apologetically.

Dean snorted, "Get used to it. I'm a hugger."

Communication was partially by touch, and Castiel had not objected to Dean's knee pats and arm linking. Dean pushed his luck and pecked Castiel's pink lips as he pulled out of the hug. Huge eyes met his before Castiel returned the compliment adding a second tender feather light touch to the corner of Dean's lips.

Dean floated to his room. He gave Spider a spritz, twirled onto his futon, crossed his legs at the ankle and spent uncounted time sketching Castiel's face from memory.

================================SPNSPNSPN===============================================

a/n -

Thanks you guys for the great response to this story. I am really enjoying writing it and I hope you are getting as much pleasure from reading it and will continue to do so over future chapters. Dean's birthday in next chapter.


	8. Seven

Note:

Influenced by the profoundness of Supernatural sandwiches. Who? Me?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel made the best sandwiches. There was thick sliced bread, still faintly warm, baked using a bread-maker but Dean didn't count that as cheating. The turkey was fresh off the bone, cut away from their Sunday evening leftovers. There was just the right scrape of mayo and thickly spread organic creamery butter. Castiel planted a second offering in front of Dean without being asked. That led Dean to contemplate the awesomeness of the man occupying the paper strewn end of the small dining table, which was pushed lengthways against the wall, as if they rarely entertained visitors in this home. Dean peered at the assignments that Castiel was grading. They appeared to be scientific drawings of a bisected flower with the parts labeled. Dean reckoned that Cas had several artistically talented students in his class. He craned his neck to see a few that had picked a specific species of flowering plant, rather than a generic daisy-petal head. One partially covered example had been richly colored in.

Waves of some high brow music choice played softly in the background. Castiel's pen scratched notes on a much erased and redrawn submission. A sated and comfortable silence settled over Dean.

"Would you like another?"

When Dean looked up Castiel was leaning back in his chair, rolling his shoulders to ease out his muscles, then cracking his neck. The hinted glimpse of skin, that revealed and subsided from Castiel's unbuttoned black Henley, made Dean's mouth water.

"No, thanks Cas, I'm good." Dean pressed the pad of his finger to the plate to pick up the last shredded morsel of turkey, then popped his digit into his mouth and sucked it off.

Castiel watched in fascination, licking his lips and focusing on Dean, who grinned and said "Great sandwiches."

A smile like rays of sun breaking through clouds spread across Castiel's face. "I'm glad you liked them. You don't have to go yet, do you? Would you like me to change the CD?"

Across the street it was all hands on deck. Sam and Sarah had pulled the kitchen apart, while Jessica had a demonic vacuum cleaner on the go, and Andy was attempting to air out his bedroom. Only Brady had escaped due to a Lacrosse team meeting. Dean had been granted respite on condition that he take toilet scrubbing duty on his return. Sam had made a suggestion of a rock/paper/scissors tournament to decide on the dud jobs, but that had resulted in an outcry, because Sam always won. It was how he had secured the master bedroom. The idea of lingering a little longer with Castiel was much more appealing.

"Another orchestra?" Dean checked.

Castiel chuckled, "That was a string quartet. Bartók. I do have the Vienna Philharmonic or the Philadelphia Orchestra's recent release of Mendelssohn under Ormandy."

"Any ELO?" Dean tried with a breathy laugh and was faced with a blank that matched his own knowledge of the classic classics. "Mr. Blue Sky?"

"I don't know of a Bleuski."

Dean guffawed but stopped his mirth when Castiel narrowed his eyes and squinted at him.

"ELO, Electric Light Orchestra, y'know Xanadu?"

"No Dean."

"Just classic as in pianos and violins and stuff, not rock? AC/DC, Hendrix or The Zep?"

"My preference would be Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky." Castiel spread his hands and pouted his bottom lip, yet obviously amused at their different musical tastes.

Dean grinned. He couldn't tell Mozart from Moses. But then maybe Castiel couldn't tell Plant from Osbourne. "No Stairway to Heaven then Cas?"

"I do have Holst's The Planets." Castiel offered.

"Gotta be better than Sammy's emo and indie crap." Dean made a put upon expression, "but then he was out from under my influence."

"I'm afraid my influences were out of their time." Castiel gave a sad reflective smile. "I was raised without access to popular music."

"So was I, Cas. Classic rock ain't exactly 'N Sync or Mariah Carey."

Castiel replied "I may have heard those artists on the radio at work, but they did not impress me."

While Dean contemplated exposing Castiel to rock music of the finest vintages, he glanced at the clock on the wall and saw how long he had been gone. "Oh Hell, I've gotta get back to Sam and The Borax Identity."

"I think it is the Bourne Identity." Castiel corrected.

"How come," Dean laughed, "You know Jason Bourne but not modern music?"

"I saw that movie." Castiel explained simply then licked his lips, "My parents believed that modern culture, movies, music, television are inherently evil. I was homeschooled to 7th grade and we did not possess a TV."

"Whoa," Dean puffed. He thought of all the beloved TV shows of his childhood. Had Cas ever seen MacGyver, Buck Rodgers or re-runs of Bonanza? Maybe his life had been devoid of Star Trek and Batman. He didn't know what to say.

"May I ask what the grand cleaning is for?" Castiel asked changing the subject, "Are you having family visit?"

"No Man," Dean scrubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward, "Y'know… I said I've an anxiety disorder."

Castiel nodded, "I made the point of looking it up in the library."

"You did?" Dean's jaw dropped.

"Yes. I haven't overstepped?" Castiel's body was rigid with tension as he waited the fraction of a second for Dean's reply.

"No. God, Cas. I'm not offended. That's kinda sweet of you." Dean sucked a breath. That meant when they weren't together Castiel thought about him, about them, just like Dean did. Now there was a faint tint of scarlet rising to Castiel's cheeks. It made Dean want to trace his cheekbones but he refrained. If Castiel had looked up some psychology textbooks or medical references then he deserved to know more. If Dean wanted more between them he could hardly hide the last years of his life behind shuttered eyes and silent pauses. "So… I was… was in a psych ward."

"Oh Dean." Castiel said in a deep distressed tone. He reached a hand across the table.

Blue eyes glistened and met Dean's liquid green. Somehow their connecting gazes gave Dean the strength to continue. He turned his palm up for Castiel to take his hand. The golf ball was threatening to compress his vocal cords, but Dean ground his teeth determined to finish. He didn't unlock their gazes when he coughed and began again, "So that's where I was. Arkansas. I've a social worker and a shrink, a GED and a bed in my brother's room. I'm no graduate. I'm an unskilled ex-psych patient on welfare."

Dean dropped his eyes to the polished wood table. He set his shoulders ready for any manner of rejection or a cringing sympathetic partings of ways.

Instead Castiel removed his hand and offered it again to be shaken, "Hello Dean. My name is Castiel Fletcher, unqualified teacher, disowned gay son, with a bedroom in my cousin's house, a mountain of student debt and an addiction to caffeine. Pleased to meet you."

Their eyes meet again, this time in self depreciating mirth. They both collapsed into snorting laughter.

"We're hopeless." Dean chuffed.

"Equally so," Castiel grinned, "So no fighting over who is in the worst boat?"

"No fighting." Dean promised with feeling.

++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++

In the end Garth's visit went without a hitch. Sam had to skip a class. He told Dean not to feel bad about it, but it was still his fault that Sam would have to catch up on his statistics course at his tutorial. Andy had been told to get out of the house, but had not been the least bit insulted. There was a very basic checklist of things like hot running water, locks on doors, number of bathrooms per head, adequate heat and ventilation that Garth checked off. The minor factors that Sam had freaked over, like there only being the kitchen and family room as communal space because the Brady's downstairs bedroom was originally the designated dining room, didn't matter at all. Garth opened Andy's bedroom door and Dean was sure he saw the 'house plant' on the windowsill, but the social worked ignored it. Dean was very tempted to point out to Samantha The House Cleaning Princess that Garth didn't inspect the oven for grease nor underneath the toilet seat for grime. However he kept his mouth shut, because Sam looked like he might literally explode in a mess of body goo from the tension.

Over coffee, Dean brewed the decaf for the sake of Sam's nerves, Garth gave his approval. He refused the offer of one of Jess's muffins, instead pulling a Tupperware container of some sort of dried seaweed out of his bag. While he munched and Dean watched the black stuff disappear into his mouth, Garth explained he was on a Japanese detox. He was happy Dean had attended Dr Henricksen and that he had standing appointment. He promised to be in touch soon about Dean's work program and shook each brother's hand on his way out. Sam sagged against the door when he had departed.

Dean punched him in the arm.

"Ouch, what was that for?" Sam rubbed his bicep.

"Toilets, Sammy," Dean huffed. He wondered if he could fiddle with the toilet lid so it would snap closed on Sam, but then Andy or Brady might end up victim of the prank. Maybe there was some other trick he could pull to pay back Sam for the toothbrush toilet scrubbing.

With Garth's visit over, Dean took the rest of Wednesday easy. He went to the park for a while and wrote his first entry into the journal for Victor about how he had been the least stressed person in the house. He detoured through the closer smaller park on the way home and found a Californian Buckwheat in flower. A spider had spun its web across the spindly branches. Dean clipped one of the white flowering stems with the small knife he carried in his inner pocket. He didn't disturb the web. He thought he might try and recreate the picture back at home.

Thursday it seemed the theme of mellow Dean and frantic Sam continued. Sam rushed back from campus to get to his swapped work shift. In the few minutes gap Brady made Sam eat a bowl of Cheerios. Sam protected his black work shirt from milk splashes with a napkin tucked in the collar, much to Dean's undisguised amusement. Then Jessica and Sarah thumped down the stairs with their luggage ready to head for Jessica's birthday weekend skiing at Lake Tahoe with Scott, Becca and Zach. There had been an open but regretfully unaccepted invitation for the other housemates to join them. There was a flurry of chick kisses into the air over Dean's cheeks. Brady checked the girls had Jessica's gifts in their cases. Dean had been rather stumped about having to get a last minute present for Sam's friend who shared his birthday, but he had spotted a long primrose yellow wool scarf in the window one of the small stores he walked by. If she didn't like it Jessica could wrap it around the neck of a ski-lodge snowman.

With all the hectic comings and leavings, half of a red velvet cake, that had held early candles for Jess, remained uneaten on the table. Once Dean had tidied up around the kitchen he figured Cas might be home from his afternoon class. He covered the cake plate with a clean dish towel and made his way to knock on Castiel's door.

It was opened by the other resident of the house. Dean gaped at the older blond with his deeply v-necked metallic blue top, darker blue lounge pants, and Birkenstock sandals. Instead of a greeting the dude twisted around and shouted, "Cassie Darling! Where are my car keys?" Then faced him again with a huge smile plastered on his face, "You must be the Dean. Pleasure."

Dean shook his hand.

Castiel appeared behind Balthazar with the keys held aloft.

"Gotta bolt, fellows." Balthazar said by way of apology as he side stepped around Dean, "He's cute Cassie, you could do worse."

Once the door was closed Dean asked with hushed confusion, "Cas is your cousin British?"

Castiel guided him through the house to the rear facing small galley kitchen. "My Aunt married a British doctor and Balthazar is her son. Most people's next question is about our age difference. My parents had me late in life. Do you know your old testament?"

Dean was surprised by the question. He nodded as he placed the cake on the counter.

"The story of Abraham and Sarah. How an angel came and told her that she would bear a son many years beyond her natural fertility?" Castiel waited for Dean's nod, "My father was in his late fifties when I was born and my mother, ten years his junior, almost through her menopause. I was a blessing from God." Castiel gave a minor huff, "My father wished to name me Isaac but my mother was uncomfortable with the 'sacrifice your son' part of the Bible story. She found out she was pregnant on a Thursday, the angel Castiel's weekday."

As Castiel moved to the coffee maker, Dean uncovered his offering. Castiel snagged a broken piece immediately, "So good. Did your baking housemate make it?"

"Jess? No. I think Sarah bought it."

Castiel returned to his explanation, "Balthazar's twenty years older than me, but we are first cousins. I am sorry I've been up the walls the last few days. We had an emergency drama club meet on Tuesday, trying to decide if we are putting on a spring production. How did the house inspection go yesterday?"

"Peachy," Dean smirked, "Sam was shitting himself but it was a cinch."

"Good," Castiel poured two mugs and gestured for the family room so they could sit down on the sofa together with the cake on the low glass table.

Dean hummed at the decent coffee. "You know I only had decaf in the hospital."

"Sacrilege." Castiel growled.

Dean cupped his hands around the warm mug, let his eyelids fall and scented the quality brew.

"You know, you are stunning," Castiel breathed.

Dean lowered his head, sure Cas was being overly kind. His chin was lifted by Cas's fingertips.

"I mean it."

"Stop, Cas. Please don't. I know I am scarred." Dean muttered and tried to turn his head away.

"You mean this?" Castiel's other hand touched his cheek scar, "Guys, and I presume ladies too, find scars very appealing."

Dean made a wan smile but couldn't believe such a blatant mark would be seen as attractive. "It's all the way across my face."

Castiel huffed making Dean look up. His eyes almost glowed in neon blue. "It's a slender new moon on its back in a thin white curving line. It's sexy." He quirked his lips and lowered his voice an octave, "Exchanging scar stories can be a bonding milestone."

Dean blinked. That voice made his pulse flutter. He slipped things round and asked "Do you have any?"

"I have a flecked pattern across my chest. Old stitches from a branch that caught me when I fell out of a tree."

Dean raised one eyebrow.

"What?" Castiel protested, "I was six and convinced I could fly. How did you get such a perfectly lunar scar?"

Dean choked up. He lifted his eyes and spoke to the ceiling, "It happened on the ward."

"Oh Dean. Oh Lord. I'm sorry." Castiel bit his lip.

Dean checked for sickly sympathy, but Castiel apologized for bringing up the whole discussion.

"'s OK. I … Fo-fought them off and a buckle slashed my face. It was a long time ago." Dean gave a long purifying exhale of the kind recommended to fight off a panic attack.

Castiel squeezed his hand. "How long ago?"

"I dunno exactly. Days blurred together. Maybe four years."

Castiel touched the scar again with tips of his fingers. "Good God it must have been bad to leave that mark."

"I've had worse." Dean took a deep fortifying breath. Prepared to cut his losses and get out of this thing developing between them or dive right in depending on Castiel's reaction. He popped the studs on his cuffs and exposed his wrists. He chanced a glance up. Castiel was silently crying.

"Oh Dean." Castiel took his closer hand palm up onto his lap and cradled it.

"I've a chip out of my elbow from another attempt." Dean watched in stunned fascination as Castiel traced his warm soft finger along the warped ridges on Dean's pale lower forearm and across the thick blue veins of his inner wrist. "I didn't think I could fly."

"Such pain." Castiel's breath seemed to alight in a fine mist and settle as a caress on Dean's skin. "I wish you had never experienced any of that."

"You and me both, Cas." Dean exhaled and went all in. There was no point in concealing crap when he had gone this far. It came out lower than Dean intended, almost ethereal, a whisper, "I miscarried. First trimester… a lost tiny scrap of life."

Castiel pressed his hand over his own heart as if everything Dean was telling him was giving him angina or physical heart pains. "What can I say? When?"

"I was seventeen. I lost my baby and my family in one fell swoop. I didn't want to live. Thought I couldn't go on. I was in hell but I wouldn't let them win." Dean spoke from between gritted teeth, "I survived Cas."

"I for one am very happy that you did." Castiel moved across and pressed a kiss to the scar on Dean's cheek.

Dean curled into Castiel. They shared forks of cake, wrapped together on the sofa. Cas stroked his arm. Dean twirled their fingers together. They didn't dwell on Dean's revelations which he was thankful for. It had taken lot out of him to bring the past up, and sitting together without judgment, comment or chick flick emoting was what he needed.

Castiel's phone bleeped but they ignored it. Until Balthazar texted a second time to say he would be late. After a while Castiel apologized that he had to finish some papers for the next morning's classes. He turned on The Discovery Channel. Dean twisted his legs up on the seat. He was happy to sit next to Cas while he worked. After a while Castiel put aside his papers and made himself comfortable. There was no space between their bodies. Dean could feel the heat from Castiel's skin. They were almost snuggling, which Dean corrected to snuggling by wrapping an arm around Cas's shoulders. The next show on the TV was a new one about busting myths. Dean began to see that science had a cool side. He imagined Cas wearing nerdy goggles in the school lab debunking myths for his pupils.

"Geez, I don't know if that's awesome or a tragedy." Dean huffed. The TV guys were going to attach jets to an Impala and destroy it. He grabbed Castiel's hand. At the raised brows Dean chirped, "Our car."

"I'm sure your car is safe," Cas grinned.

Dean relaxed when the Mythbusters found a 66 Impala that had already been mutated by a previous owner. Once he didn't have to watch a version of his beloved vehicle blown to pieces he began to enjoy the show. It brought back a lot of his knowledge from fixing up cars with his Dad and more so at Bobby's yard.

"Science has a cool side." Dean declared at the end.

"I doubt I'd get permission to make stomach bombs or add jets to cars on school property," Castiel huffed a laugh, "But I imagine I'll get questions in physics tomorrow."

When Dean finally rose to go home, Castiel planted a few sweet and chaste kisses to his lips. Dean caught him by the waist on the front porch and gained a decent kiss, deep and warm, which ended in a squeezing hug.

"Are you OK?" Castiel checked.

"Sure," Dean nodded.

"After what we talked about earlier, you know I was sincere."

Dean's heart quivered. "You too, Cas. I mean, you are a handsome guy." He reached up and cupped Castiel's cheek, "I'll see you tomorrow maybe?"

"Goodnight Dean." Castiel gave him a final kiss before letting him go.

All night Castiel send a stream of text messages to check on Dean. It was cute and even better the repetitive text alerts got Sam all huffy and glary when he got home. Dean almost asked Castiel to keep texting just to see Sam's bitchface. Although maybe it was a cruel and unusual pranking for a little brother who was trying his best and it was getting late for Castiel and Sam who had school and class in the morning.

On Friday Sam brought him coffee and pop tarts in bed. While teasing that he shouldn't get used to it, Sam handed over a badly wrapped birthday gift, which was obviously a CD-walkman. There was a moment of mourning for Dean's lost cassette tape collection but Sam broke through it with CD versions of The Zep, Black Sabbath and Asia's Then & Now album. Dean got ever so slightly misty eyed and forgave Sam his plans to replace the Impala's cassette player with a CD version.

Dean took his walkman to the park during the morning. It was kind of awesome to have Ramble On in his ear buds while a chickadee pecked at a nut near his boots. He reflected that maybe he should cut Sam some slack and be a bit more charitable in his thoughts. Sam was trying his best and he wasn't the whiney, if adorable, twelve year old Dean had lost. Dean had the very best start to 2003 when he was found by Sam. His whole life, his world, had been transformed. The missing phantom limb that was Sam had been reconnected. Faced with a young adult version of his brother, it was easy to forget that he was still a teenager. Dean made a birthday vow that he would be there for his little brother. He'd always taken care of Sammy growing up. He'd tried his level best to protect Sam, provide him with the best home life possible, encourage his studious big brain and be there when he fell and scraped his knees. There might be a version of role reversal going on at the moment but Dean could step back up to the big brother plate and he vowed that he would.

It clouded over before lunch and the temperature dropped into the fifties. Dean didn't push his speed on the way home but his walk seemed to take on the rhythm of his music. He snorted to himself that maybe he'd be a dancer when he finally kicked all his issues to the curb.

The mailman had been while Dean was out. His face lit up when he saw a packet with Bobby's address in the corner. In the bundle of mail was also a card from Arkansas. Dean made his way into the kitchen and put a microwave burrito in for his lunch. He used his finger to slit open the card first. It depicted a crazy looking teddy bear and was for a four year old complete with a pin declaring he was four. Someone, read Chuck, had used a permanent marker to write a 2 before the 4 on the card and pin. Dean beamed when he opened it to see many signatures and good wishes. He had forgotten his idea of sending a postcard of the beach to ACIC but resolved to write back soon. Next he tackled Bobby's well taped up gift, using the paring knife that he was slicing his lunch with. There was a soft flannel plaid shirt with a note on one of the salvage yard's invoices wishing him a happy birthday and telling him to wear the over-shirt. The contrary mechanic scribbled that he was sure it got cold as a witch's finger in North California too. When Dean shook out the blue green shirt there was a fall of other mail. Some had those official windowed envelopes and they were all addressed to Sam. He guessed that the salvage yard was still the Winchester permanent mailing address. There was a couple of personal letters or cards for Sam too. One was from Jim Murphy and another in a delayed Christmassy envelope from the Paxman family. When Dean straightened them up against the spaghetti jar he noticed one with _FOR DEAN_ written above Sam's name and Bobby's address. He slit the envelope open and pulled out a large white card with a printed row of red poppy heads. It was a strange choice for a birthday card. He flicked it open.

_Sam, _

_It's hard to believe another year is gone by without your promised visit to Indiana or mine to Stanford. My dorm door is always open here in Purdue.  
__Bet you are killing them on the Lacrosse field again this year. I made the swim team. No comments about webbed feet!  
__Do you remember Miss Kelsey? She ran off with Farmer Grainger. Vicky Grainger told Dad while he was doing her root canal.  
__I promise! Pinky promise! To stay in touch more often this year.  
__I'll be thinking of you on the 24__th__ and I'm sure Aaron will too. _

_Be good! _

_Kol tuv, Sydney._

Dean's butt collapsed into a kitchen chair. He held the card loosely in his hand. He stared at the handwritten words, and felt a crippling wave of guilt. All the years that had passed since he had been wrapped in Aaron's arms. They hadn't been in love, or anything like it, but it had been warm and affectionate with burst of teenage passion. They had been together on their ratty sofa and in the back seat of the Bass's sedan. They had been friends and he had confided in Aaron things about his life and the way the Winchesters lived that he had never told anyone else. And there had been the baby. The card in Dean's fingers weighed little less than the pregnancy test he had taken in the school restrooms in Batesville. These people had grieved his passing, as had Bobby and poor Sammy. The new regime on the psych ward had brought Deacon who had offered to help the recovering patients to make contact with friends and family. His father knew where Dean was. By default he'd thought Sam knew too. While some of the other guys had sought help in reconnecting with lost friends, Dean had turned his face away and closed that door in his heart. Now he thought he had been wrong. If he had written to Bobby two years ago, then maybe he could have been with Sam earlier, or in Sioux Falls. If he had written to Aaron… even though he had lost their baby, if Aaron's family had offered him assistance…

Dean gulped back burning regrets. He knew he should put the soft flannel shirt on a clothes hanger. He should call Bobby to thank him. But he couldn't. He looked at his watch. Cas should be home from the high school. He shoved his feet into his boots and made a bad job of lacing them up. He didn't remember making his way across the street, was not sure that he had locked the door behind him.

When Castiel opened the door, he took one look at Dean and slung his arm around his shoulder pulling him into the house. In the family room, Dean pressed his face into Castiel's neck, feeling another ping of guilt for wetting Castiel's suit collar with his tears.

"What happened Dean?"

"'s m'birthday," Dean muttered.

Castiel stiffened. Dean held his breath.

"I have no gift for you. I didn't know."

And that broke the pall of sadness. Such a practical answer. Dean stood straight and dried his eyes with his fingers. "Couldn't. Didn't tell ya."

"What happened?" Castiel repeated.

"There was a card, for me, I thought. It was my name, but it was a kinda memorial for me."

"What?" Castiel looked partially confused with eyes narrowed and partially outraged, "Some sort of sick joke?"

"No Cas. Shit. I'm no good at this." Dean huffed, "See my Dad told them all I was dead."

"Jesus." Castiel's unexpectedly uttered blasphemy made Dean stare.

"So these friends of me and Sam, seems they remembered me to him each year." Dean sank into an armchair.

Castiel perched on the arm. "Good friends?"

"The best." Dean agreed.

"What are you going to do?"

Dean blew a long breath. "I bet Sam has an e-mail or something. I don't think I could call and say 'Hi I'm Alive.' We didn't have lots of people in our lives but there are a few others; My dad's old Marine Corp Chaplin Jim, The Mills in Sioux Falls, my granddaddies but Dad had cut all ties with them when I was little."

"Does it have to be done today?" Castiel asked while he stroked the leather of Dean's wrist cuff.

Dean shook his head. He leaned sideways so his shoulder pressed on Castiel's arm.

"I am flattered."

"Huh?" Dean queried.

"That you came to me." Castiel pressed a light kiss into Dean's hair. "I wish I didn't have to work at Harmonies this evening, but must let Leonore go home and then close up for Balthazar. He has a date."

"You need to go?" Dean asked with disappointment. He was just getting comfortable.

"I'll need to change out of my teaching garb and get to the mall by four, so we have a little time." Castiel shifted so he was more curled around Dean. "Maybe when I am home I'll call in on you?"

Dean communicated how much he would look forward to that by wrapping his arm around Castiel's waist and not letting him go until he was almost late. He knew now that Castiel was more than a date. They had a nascent friendship, something that might endure, be polished up like a gemstone, and form a bond between them greater than physical or lustful attraction.

Dean returned home with a lighter step than he could have fathomed possible. Sam was inside the door wearing his coat and in the process of dialing Dean's cell.

"Dean. Oh My God. You saw Sydney's card. Are you OK?" Sam did a freaky patting down of Dean's arms that had his older brother taking a pace back to escape the weird.

Dean cleared his throat, "I'm good Sammy."

Puppy dog eyes and not letting go of Dean's sleeve, "You're sure? Not putting up a front?"

"It was a shock," Dean admitted as he eased Sam's huge hand off his arm, "But I'm sorta glad you kept in touch."

"He sends one every year. He's doing great. Aeronautics at Purdue. We met up a couple of years back when Dad had a gig at the Indy 500. He's still the same, y'know. And we are awful at contacting each other but if he had a problem I'd jump to help out and I know he would do the same."

"And Aaron?" Dean gasped out the name.

Sam leaned against the wooden spines of the banisters. "Last I heard he was in Israel."

Dean glared at his little brother to continue.

"He dropped out of college. He was heading for a career in dentistry like their Dad. But Sydney said it was to please his old man. Rabbi Bass linked him up with some distant relatives in Israel. Remember how you guys bonded in Art class? Aaron's doing some sort of clay sculptures. He lives in Ein Hod, last time I asked."

"Good," Dean set his jaw. He hoped Aaron had found his niche and was happy. Maybe he had a girl or a guy over there.

"I guess we should tell people you aren't six feet under." Sam tried a weak grin.

"Suppose," Dean agreed.

"Like there's a few people who'd want to know." Sam continued.

"That's true." Dean said with a firm nod to end Sam's train of thought and added Castiel's sage advice, "But not today huh?"

"Yeah, sure Dean. We've got our movie marathon tonight." Sam popped his brows up and down.

"Is that my surprise?" Dean huffed a laugh.

"What did you want? A nightclub and a titty bar?"

"Maybe," Dean teased but inside he was pleased with Sam's choice. He went for a shower and to change into something more comfortable. When he came down Sam had drawn the blinds in the family room and laid on multiple flavors of chips, dips, and roasted nuts. The old cooler that lived in the Impala trunk was against the leg of the coffee table with four cold beers.

Sam's mega watt grin was accompanied by a choice of Lord of The Rings or Star Trek The Wrath of Khan.

After Boromir's tragic end, Sam disappeared to the kitchen, returning with a single serving size lemon meringue pie. The candle was suspiciously pink and the same as the ones that had been on Jess's red velvet cake, but Dean didn't care.

"Best birthday ever," He complimented as he blew out the tiny flickering flame.

Sam's self satisfied flop into the armchair and scooping of some of the lemon pie filling with the crook of his finger made Dean all warm and brotherly fuzzy inside.

The night was topped off when Castiel arrived between The Wrath of Khan and The Search for Spock. Sam welcomed him without being overly protective. When Castiel admitted never having seen the Star Trek movies, both Winchesters were shocked and united in their promise to correct Castiel's cultural knowledge gap. Sam ejected the third movie and went on a hunt for the original motion picture.

When Sam shouted from the hall that he was braving Brady's bedroom, Castiel produced a paper bag.

Dean smiled to allay the nervous expression on Castiel's face.

He unwrapped his gift.

Sam appeared looming over the back of the sofa, "Watcha get Dean?"

Two CDs appeared. They were CD versions of Back In Black and Metallica's Black Album. "Awesome. These rock, literally. Hey, was there a conspiracy?"

Dean saw two wide eyed denying head shakes. Sam protested that he hadn't spoken to Castiel, who looked bewildered at the question. Dean thanked Sam again for the walkman which made comprehension dawn on Castiel's face.

"The helpful clerk at the mall's music store recommended these." Castiel explained.

"Great minds think alike, hey Castiel?" Sam grinned.

Dean made his way round the sofa followed by Cas, which allowed him to grab his two favorite people in a one armed hug each.

"More chips Sammy." Dean directed, "Come on we've gotta teach Cas the wonders and wiles of James T Kirk and the Starfleet universe."

"Well seeing as you are on a mission," Sam chuckled as he went for the Doritos.

"Damn right." Dean asserted. He patted the sofa cushion next to him. When Castiel took his place, Dean shifted in closer, scenting the laundry softener, a faint hint of New Age store incense and the lightly spiced fragrance of Cas's aftershave. He made a mental note that being caught having his nose tucked into his boyfriend's neck would give Sam too much teasing ammunition. Instead he threw his arm around Castiel's shoulders. He was gratified when Cas eased into his embrace. Sam still eye rolled when he returned with the chips, but he brought another beer for Cas and they settled in for a Star Trek marathon.

Opening his eyes to silent darkness, Dean hadn't a clue what time he had fallen asleep and proceeded to drool over Castiel's shoulder, but he remembered Brady watching The Search for Spock with them. At some point Sam had covered the sleeping duo with a blanket. He was stiff and sore when he woke. Castiel's head was tilted back on the sofa. Dean admired the plane of his nose and partial open lips. Little puffs of air left his mouth and Castiel curled his hand into Dean's shirt. It was only when he realized that Cas must be dreaming that Dean recalled that he'd dropped into sleep without his medication, and more than that hadn't woken in a ball of sweat and fear. He lowered Castiel's upper body into a more comfortable and less likely to muscle spasm position. Sliding a cushion under the dark haired man's neck produced a soft moan that might have been 'Dean', but Cas didn't wake. Dean eased down so his back was pressed into Castiel's chest. He pulled the blanket over their shoulders. Castiel's arm draped over his body. Dean was nicely trapped. He was sure Sam and Brady would wake them when they got up for work, or Andy would blunder in from whatever party he had attended, but for now Dean was going to take the opportunity for another forty winks of blissful natural sleep, snug and coiled around Castiel.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Author's note:

I know these have been a couple of Sam-lite chapters, more focused on Dean and Castiel. Next chapter will be back to Sam's POV.


	9. Eight

Author's Note:  
Apologies for the delay. A few chapters clamored to be written simultaneously. This does mean I will post again in a couple of days.  
Just a note about the rating, which has been Teen and Up. There is a slightly smutty paragraph in this chapter (in the kitchen, if you want to skim), but I am going to change the overall rating to Mature for intimacy from the next chapter (Hell-Yeah-Destiel-and-Samifer).

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam's knee jigged up and down. Brady's Dad had phoned minutes before they were due to head out for their Friday shifts. Sam reversed out of the car port and faced the Impala in the right direction for travel. He cursed his best friend under his breath. He knew from the previous Thanksgiving that Brady's Dad could win a gold medal at the talking Olympics. He pulled out his cell and shot a text off to Nick explaining they were on their way but might not make it for exactly 5pm. There was no response. Maybe it was already getting busy in the restaurant.

Reflecting that last Friday night had been spent with beer and chips and teaching Dean's odd but cute boyfriend about Star Trek, Sam wished he could take another night off. It had been a long week since Dean's birthday, one of ups and downs.

On the positive side of the equation Dean was definitely more settled in. The little critical voice in the back of Sam's head had shut up, mostly. There were less internal whispers during class when his mind drifted, less frequently pricking him with worries and shortfalls. Monday evening had been sweet. The Gates was moderately busy with enough customers for the time to pass quickly but not so many that he couldn't snatch periods at the end of the bar shooting the breeze with Nick.

The most amusing event of the week was when Castiel joined them at the Comedy Club. Dean took to hissed whispers of punch lines that had gone over Castiel's head. Jessica had to spit her drink back into its glass at one point she was laughing so much. She told them they should book a slot on stage as a duo. Sam had watched them closely. He noticed the way Castiel leaned in allowing Dean to whisper, the time that Dean cocked his head which Castiel correctly interpreted responding that he'd share another pitcher of beer, and how the graduate's eyes never left Dean. A few days earlier on their easy Sunday Sam had sneaked Dean into the campus gym. Then they stopped at Light Up Your Beans on the way home. Castiel was working but took his break to sit with them and hear Dean's impressions of Stanford's facilities. Sam found that he was reluctantly developing a fondness for Dean's boyfriend. He was glad there was someone else there for Dean. He had hoped that his brother might have hit it off and gotten close to one of his housemates, but he knew they were all a few years younger than Dean and focused on college life. He had his fingers, toes, legs and freaking eyes crossed that Castiel wouldn't break Dean's heart. He would hate to have to break the cute guy's nose as vengeance.

Thinking of his fist smashing into nose cartilage brought up the shit-creek end of the week's river. Sam had composed joyful emails to friends that he was still in touch with, telling them that Dean lived, which should have acted like Prozac but it had made Sam reflect on his transient upbringing and how every one of those people had felt Dean's loss. It made him sorry he hadn't punched his father's lights out back in Bobby's yard on New Year's Day.

Garth had been in touch to say that there was an open session for Ticket to Work employers and beneficiaries the following Monday afternoon. Sam could take Dean during his gap in classes but he couldn't practically make it back in time for the start of his humanities class. He could be late and red-faced entering the lecture hall or ask Brady for another batch of illegible notes. It caused the Winchester brothers to have their first falling out since being reunited. Dean insisted he could go on his own in the Impala. Sam point blank refused. Dean's new sleeping pill meant he could drive but he hadn't sat behind a wheel for years. Dean had huffed and pointedly said that it was like riding a bicycle. Heading to San Jose on his own as his first ride was not going to happen, and Sam was not going to let his brother face a room of what would be essentially job interviews without support. Dean had given Sam the frostiest cold shoulder until he placed a mounded plate of homemade Mac'n'Cheese in front of Sam that evening as an unspoken apology.

There had also been the most horrific negatively marked multiple choice test in his Human Biology class. The exam had been the day before Garth's house inspection. Sam had been so distracted that he thought he might have ticked Lysol instead of Lysosome. A few hours ago at tutorial the TA had distributed their scores. Sam had been slapped with a B minus. The test was only 15% of the final grade but it meant Sam would have to cram his efforts into biology to make his scholarship average or consign the unit to the dumpster. He could take an incomplete but then he would have to register for an extra class for Spring semester. There was no guarantee that his life would be less hectic then. At least Dean's standing appointment with his psychiatrist had been set for every second Thursday, which meant Dean could walk to the clinic and Sam pick him up afterwards. Dean had actually been in a good mood after yesterday's session and had surprised everyone by cooking again; meatball marinara this time. The new schedule meant Sam wouldn't have to spend his Friday work shift worrying how Dean had got on with Victor. There were enough concerns preying on his mind.

He laid his forehead onto the steering wheel. If Brady didn't get his butt out of the house Sam would have to dial The Gates and explain their absence. Explaining to Crowley, or even worse Alastair, would be the cherry on his misery.

The shotgun door opened and Brady threw himself into the seat with a huff and a "If Baldur throws a plate or a knife at me tonight I'm making a complaint."

"Suck it up." Sam grumbled. His sympathy reserves had run dry.

"Who pissed in your sandbox?" Brady shot back.

Sam didn't answer, mainly because he would have called his friend out for making them late. He put the car in gear and headed for The Gates. Saying nothing hadn't helped. Brady was in an obvious snit with him. The blond trounced to the kitchen while Sam headed to the staff room to stow his wallet and keys and to hang up his hoodie.

"Well lookie here. Sam's gracing us with his presence."

The nasal drawl announced that Alastair had not yet left the premises. Sam closed his eyes and prayed for divine intervention to hold his patience with his colleague whose superiority complex knew no bounds. He tagged on a post script for fortitude when dealing with grouchy customers and Ruby's games.

"Hi Al." Sam gave a fake grin through gritted teeth. Being called Al pushed the day manager's buttons.

Alastair was pulling on his jacket. He sneered, "You think you're all that? This year's thang?"

Sam squinted at him, "What?"

"I see you. Waltzing in here, taking the boss's fancy. I know your game Samael." He hissed, "Lucifer's pet."

Sam's nostrils flared with temper. "I am nobody's pet."

Alastair chuckled contemptuously. It was a dry hacking sound. "You have no shame. Throwing your legs over his in the staff room. I saw you on Saturday after lunch service. It's disgusting."

"You know what, Alastair?" Sam spat back, "Bite Me."

"You little shit. Jumped up gold-digging busboy."

"Get a life, you bitter twisted grump." Sam took a step closer and hissed, "What Nick and I do is none of your business."

Alastair shrugged his shoulders and drawled with exaggerated slowness, "Such a hotshot now. Wait until he grows tired of you."

Sam's anger steamed. He curled his hands into fists. It took all his restraint not to strike out as the bar manager walked by to get to the door.

Despite being late, Sam took a plastic cup from the water cooler and sipped it while he regained his equilibrium. He wondered if Alastair's opinion of his relationship was shared by the others. He could imagine Alastair and Vepar with their heads together deriding his character. Brady had not told him if any comments were being made behind his back by the others. Sam dumped the cup in the trash and decided he didn't give a damn about the petty workplace jealousies.

Wrapping the ties of his waist apron, Sam headed for the bar. Crowley caught his eye, "Young moose? Your antlers are hanging."

"Huh?" Sam blinked.

"Bloody hell. You'll want to wakey wakey Samael's shaky."

Sam eye rolled at the lame humor.

"Don't let grim-guts get you down." Crowley raised his brows and cocked his head at the staff exit, "Alastair said something didn't he? Bloody jealous bollocks. And to think I always presumed you and Brady were lovers."

Sam huffed a laugh at the other bar manager's jest. "I'm a big boy, Fergus. Name calling doesn't faze me." Sam straightened his spine, "Many bookings for tonight?"

"The usual, but there is a Special Assignment for Winchester." Crowley said mysteriously before his attention was grabbed by a patron.

Nick appeared from his office door. He beamed when he saw Sam and made a bee line for him. Sam couldn't help smiling in response.

"Get your coat Sam. We are on the move." Nick rocked on the balls of his feet before slinging an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Purdy is working the floor tonight."

Sam caught a glimpse of the waitress who normally only worked Sundays to supplement her secretary salary.

"We, as in you and me, are off to Gianni's." Nick winked, "working of course."

"What?" Sam articulated as he tried get his head around the sudden change in plans.

Nick led him back to the staff room. Sam removed the clean apron and got his things while Nick reminded him of the Round Robin Review scheme. Members of the Bay Area Restaurant Association were reviewing each other's establishments, then writing an article for the San Francisco Examiner. Tonight Nick and a guest were expected at La Cucina Dolce.

"But," Sam tried to protest as he zipped his charcoal gray hoodie, "my shift? Won't we leave the others shorthanded?"

Nick laughed, "Purdy, Lilith, and Meg are on the floor. Fergus is in charge, and Max is in the kitchen with Baldur so they can send Brady out at a push. Don't fret, Sam, and remember we are working."

Sam raised his brows skeptically but followed Nick to his car. "Where is La Cucina Dolce?"

"In San Francisco, Baby." Nick clicked his tongue playfully.

"You could have told me, Nick. I'm in my uniform." Sam grumbled as he sat in.

"You look fine, Sam. More than fine and Gianni's doesn't stand on ceremony. Look no tie." Nick flicked his fingers against his own open necked white shirt. Sam quirked his lips. Nick might have forgone the tie but he was sure the steel grey casual jacket was designer.

Traffic was heavy as they made their way into the city. Nick kept up the conversation with a tale about their meat supplier. He solicited Sam's thoughts for how they could impress their reviewer of The Gates. It was almost an hour later when the Lexus pulled into a small open air car lot.

"Where are we?" Sam asked. He had a vague idea but the lot had been on a quieter part retail part residential street.

Nick slipped his fingers into Sam's hand and swung their arms as they walked westward. "On our way to dinner where no one cares if I plant a smacker on your lips in public."

"The Castro?" Sam checked with a laugh.

"There they are," Nick said with soft eyes, "your dimples. I thought they had gone a hiatus. Welcome back."

"You're insane," Sam guffawed but he kept hold of Nick's hand as they made their way a few blocks and then turned down hill passing the first few premises. It was almost dark and the street was coming to life. Guys walked with other guys under their arms. Ladies strolled with their girls close at their side. Two exquisitely made up drag queens eyed Nick up and down before taking the staff entrance of a club. Sam squeezed his fingers around his companion's possessively. The tense muscles in his neck and shoulders were already easing out in the laid back weekend atmosphere of the district.

La Cucina Dolce wasn't as large an establishment as Nick's place. It was more eatery and less bar. It had an early bird offer that was almost expired and the place was busy with many diners on dessert. Sam was glad to see a mix of fashions and ages at the tables which had deep blue tablecloths with white linen ones laid diagonally on top. There was a delicious aroma of fine food, with that garlic and herby onion scent of a good Italian. The ambience was one of chatty tables and full bellies. Italian guitar music played low in the background. A tall host with a Latin complexion and aquiline nose took Nick's name and asked if they would like an aperitivo at the small corner bar while they waited. Nick ordered two Crodino on the rocks, which turned out to be a dry non-alcoholic pre-dinner drink.

There was a flurry of motion and a huge bellied white haired Italian chef clapped Nick on both shoulders. "Lucifer. In my ristorante. Buono."

"Gianni. How are you? And the family?" Nick asked.

"Making me bald, Nicola. Such is life heh?" Gianni included Sam in his jocular frown. "And who is this young stallion?"

"Gianni Del Porto meet Sam Winchester, my guest for this evening." Nick nodded in Sam's direction.

"Benvenuto." Gianni took Sam's hand and kissed it.

Sam blurted out a friendly noise in response. Nick and Gianni exchanged a few words about their businesses' recent health department inspections. Then a private booth under a large watercolor of Sorrento became free. Nick guided Sam to their table with his hand on the small of his back.

"Is your name really Nicola?" Sam asked after Nick had been handed a wine list.

"It's on my birth certificate." Nick said absently.

"Like for real?"

"Yes Sam." Nick tipped the menu down, "Nicola is an Italian boys' name."

"No wonder you go by Lucifer." Sam puffed.

Nick chuckled, "My brother's name is Michele."

"You're joshing me."

"I'm not." Nick stated. "If I order a bottle of Prosecco will you partake?"

Sam leaned in closer. "What if they ask my age?"

Nick shook his head. "They won't. Trust me. I'm driving remember so no more than a glass or two each."

"Are they bringing food menus?" Sam asked.

"Gianni is giving us a selection of delights."

The prosecco came in an ice bucket. Their waiter brought a plate with parmesan crackers while they waited for their meal. He laid down an array of cutlery to allow them both to taste all the dishes. There were bottles of sparkling mineral water too.

"Oh my God. Nick, these are divine. They are like a savory cookie with cheesy goodness." Sam extolled as the cracker melted in his mouth.

Plate after plate was delivered to their table. There was Mezzelune filled with crab and prawns, squid ink spaghetti with squid and chills, and Sardinian crisp bread with Parma ham and caramelized sweet onions. Sam was suspicious of the black pasta but Nick hummed in appreciation.

"You have to taste this Sam," he twirled the spaghetti around his fork and held it up. Sam bent forward and let Nick feed him the portion. To his surprise Nick was right. It was delicious. He closed his eyes to savor the tastes of sea and spice and olive oil. When he opened them Nick was gazing at him as if he was the dish of the day.

"If you do that with every mouthful I mightn't last the night," Nick murmured barely loud enough for Sam to hear. Sam gave a close mouth smile, then speared a prawn and crab combination with his fork and returned the favor. Nick pursed his lips around the fish and half stood to reach Sam's mouth for a peck of thanks.

The chatted about small unimportant things, nothing weighty or demanding. Nick's favorite movie was a toss between Once Upon a Time in America and The Shining, with an honorable mention to The Godfather. Sam submitted Star Wars and Die Hard for consideration. Talk of movies turned to places they had lived. Nick had been born in Maryland but had been to schools in Virginia and New York. He had spent a year in Florida and once ran a bar in Wilmington. Sam claimed he couldn't list all the places he had lived but talked about Sioux Falls and Irwindale.

When the dishes were gone Sam laid back in the leather bench seat wondering if he could fit a dessert. Two waiters appeared bearing more plates. Sam's eyes nearly fell out of his head at the stack of roasted eggplant and tomato with basil pesto and a goat cheese layer, a whole baby chicken roasted in a fresh tomato herb sauce served with deep fried polenta fries, and Sous vide beef fillet with a marasla reduction and rosemary sauté potatoes with black truffle shavings.

"Eat up Sam. You are a growing boy." Nick teased.

Sam blinked. The sting of Alastair's baseless accusations of gold-digging and thoughts of others thinking that he had ensnared Nick to be his sugar daddy bit into his enjoyment. Sam pushed the negativity away. He looked across the table through the steam of the hot dishes. Nick had this secret smile on his face as if he had won the kewpie doll at the carnival.

"You're staring," Sam pointed his fork.

"Maybe," Nick shrugged with a grin. "So did you always want to be a legal eagle?"

Sam smirked, "Did you always want to be a restaurateur?"

Nick chuffed a laugh, "Touché. If I tell, you must promise not to laugh?"

Sam put on a stern face and said "I won't. I swear." He displayed his crossed fingers on the tablecloth.

Nick sighed but divulged, "Botany."

"For real?"

Nick nodded and took another fork of the potatoes. After they both had indulged in more of the gourmet dishes he added, "I loved plant biology. I was fascinated by trees and forests. One of my schools was set in parkland, and I volunteered in the gardens. I hoarded copies of National Geographic. Global warming and CFCs were unknown but we knew of acid rain and environmental disasters. I thought I could make a difference. Be an advocate. I am still a member of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth."

"What stopped you?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.

"Life," Nick said wistfully, "Family. Dropping out of school."

"But you have money, I mean." Sam bit his lip. He didn't want to seem like he was totting up Nick's wealth in his head, "You could go back, as a mature student?"

"I don't think so," Nick answered. "Not now. Maybe as a retiree. You dodged my question. The law?"

Sam ducked his head and shyly confessed, "Anthropology."

"Well now. Isn't that a little different to ambulance chasing?"

"Hey, douche bag, I was never going into personal injury law." Sam perked up. "I think I want to major in Anthropology. I have taken classes every semester and loved every aspect of it. And I can take the LSAT if I change my mind."

"I must say you have your head screwed on much more than I did at nineteen."

Sam tried to imagine Nick at nineteen, maybe a couple of inches shorter with unlined skin, hair a little longer and maybe a couple of zits. He snorted a laugh as he dressed fake-young-Nick in 1980s gear and gave him a cow lick of hair over his eye.

"What are you thinking?" Nick narrowed his eyes.

"I'm trying to picture teenage you." Sam admitted.

Nick laughed letting Sam join in. "I'll show you a photograph when we visit my home, if you are that curious."

Sam wriggled comfortably into his seat. Nick wanted to bring him to his home and show him his private place and things. He was still smiling when their half eaten plates were taken away and replaced with two clean and simple pannacottas with fresh berries and mint.

Nick rose to go to the restroom. He bent from the waist and kissed Sam's temple. Sam rubbed the skin with his fingertip and took a sip of his prosecco. The lady at the table opposite sighed and Sam overheard her whisper to her companion that he never kissed her adorably like that. He laughed inside thinking how lucky he was. A pleasant comfy feel settled over him as he sat in a public place where his gender identity was accepted and he could chat about fine food, careers, matches Ruby had made, and if Lilith dyed hir hair. It was like a micro-vacation.

Over strong dark coffees in espresso cups, Sam got his worries about Dean's Ticket to Work open day off his chest. Nick offered to give them both a ride there. He wanted to visit a vineyard south of San Jose one day next week and he could drop and collect them. It was a nice gesture but Sam refused. Going in the Impala would probably help settle any nerves that Dean would experience.

They stopped for a drink in Gates on the way home and to pick up Brady. The restaurant was closed. Fergus was locking the safe and everyone else was gone. Brady was doing Sam's normal job of mopping the floor. The mop head was flying to the loud strains of Fat Boy Slim's Weapon of Choice. Sam could tell he was going to have to do the corners again in the morning. By the wrinkle of Nick's nose he could tell their boss was not impressed either.

Brady hissed a whispered question about how the night went while Nick checked in with his manager. Sam gave a thumbs up before they headed back out to the Lexus. They chatted about Gianni's food on the way home. Nick dropped them to their door.

"Goodnight Boss." Brady said as jumped out to the sidewalk. He caught Sam's eye. "I'm straight for bed."

Sam turned to Nick, "Thank you. I had a wonderful night,"

"You're welcome and thank you for your company." Nick smiled.

"Will you come in?" Sam asked, "I think Brady was hinting that he wouldn't linger around."

"I could have a coffee before heading home," Nick agreed.

The house was silent, save for Brady moving between the bathroom and back down to his bedroom. There were dirty plates and dishes surrounding the sink but the room wasn't too shabby. It was empty, meaning Nick and Sam had privacy. Coffee was forgotten when Sam pulled Nick close by his waist. The kiss was long and deep. Sam saw oxygen deprivation floating spots before pulling apart, his heart racing and wanting to be closer, more touched, more wrapped around Nick. He pushed the older man onto a kitchen chair and straddled his lap.

"I want to have you Sam," Nick gasped, "All of you."

Sam ground down with a bitten back moan, "I want to give it to you."

Heat rose inside. If they were in Nick's house… or … if he could find a free bedroom and put a sock on the door… but they weren't and there wasn't. A small noise escaped the back of his throat.

"God, Sam. You don't know what you do to me."

Sam took in the flushed cheeks and tongue licked lips and he thought he knew. It was what he was feeling too. Nick's head was thrown back allowing Sam to run his fingers through his hair and hold him for a deep kiss. He imagined if they were unclothed and he was riding Nick. He was rock hard. He knew Nick was too. Nick traced the curl of his ear with his fingers and moved his palm to the side of Sam's neck. Sam leaned into the touch. His lips tingled as he kissed the evening stubble on Nick's cheek. It was too much and too little at the same time. Nick moved to dig his fingers into Sam's hips and jerk him forward pressing them together. Sam dropped his head to Nick's shoulder and shuddered as they breathed each other's names. It was slow and sticky to stand up. Sam though he saw movement from the doorway. Maybe Dean had come down, but it was gone now, and he was too wrecked to check if one of the others had been scandalized during their late night search for a glass of water.

The second time Sam was sure he heard something from the hall. He pressed his palm against his partner's shoulder and moved stealthy to investigate. Dean was on the second step of the stairs pulling at the hem of his pajama top.

"Geez Dee, don't stand there like a ghost. Come in and say hi." Sam huffed and beckoned his brother to follow.

"You were busy," Dean murmured but stepped into the kitchen. "I need water for my meds."

That was a blatant lie. Dean dry swallowed the Ambien more often than not. Sam knew his big brother was checking on him, making sure he was fine, but he also knew Dean wouldn't admit it.

Nick stood up and smoothed out his trousers. He approached Dean with his hand extended. "Very pleased to meet you, Dean. Sam speaks highly of you."

Dean took the hand and used it to tug Nick closer. Sam could see him whispering something. Nick nodded and replied "I would expect nothing less."

Sam passed Dean a cup of water and promised, "I'll be up soon."

Dean gave a short nod and turned to go. He twisted back and said "Goodnight Nick."

Sam pouted reflectively when his brother was gone.

"What's with the turned out lip?" Nick asked in breathy amusement.

"I think you made a good impression," Sam grinned, "What did Dean say to you?"

Nick planted a peck to Sam's cheek and wrapped an arm around his waist. He whispered into Sam's ear, "He told me if I hurt you or am playing you, he'll end me."

"That's my big brother." Sam beamed.

Nick quirked his lips and pulled Sam closer for a long goodnight hug. They would see each other in the morning for work. On the way to the door Nick promised to sort things out so they could have a 'proper date' on a night that suited Sam. He was reluctant to see Nick go, standing on the porch until the Lexus made the turn off Cowper Street.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

At lunchtime on Monday, Sam and Dean sat in the Impala in the car lot of the Santa Clara Social Services Agency. Dean was tapping out a nervous tattoo on the dashboard.

"Come on, Dean, let's get this over with." Sam urged. Dean had been withdrawn on Sunday evening with the looming prospect of the Ticket to Work event. Earlier yesterday while Sam had his nose stuck in his World History assignment, Dean had visited Castiel during his shift at the coffee shop and had learned the basics of Air Combat from Andy, but as the day drew to a close Dean grew silent and almost visibly turned inwards.

"I get it. You are anxious about it. Hell, I've never had to parade myself on display like this." Sam tried to sympathize when Dean didn't make a move to leave the car.

"'m not a peacock," Dean grumbled.

Sam laughed at the picture of Dean with a big fanned peacock tail. Dean smirked at him and nodded. It was time to go in.

The Ticket To Work open afternoon was being held in a large conference room on the second storey. Tables had been arranged around the walls and employers had various props from advertising backdrops to a simple fan of business cards. Sam and Dean were early. The employers seemed to be still setting up. Dean pulled his borrowed baseball cap over his eyes. He was doing all the clothes again too with Sam's brown hoodie under his denim jacket. He held himself in a stiff stance, standing too close to Sam and had taken a second Xanax in the car. Sam wished Dean didn't have to go through this when he was clearly having a bad day. There had been dark circles under Dean's eyes that morning making Sam suspect nightmares from the prospect of this, the less powerful sleep meds, or maybe a mix up of everything.

"I need the restroom," Dean backed out of the conference room.

Sam chewed his lip as Dean crossed the corridor to the men's room sign. He could understand not wanting to be the first beneficiary into the room. If Sam didn't have his afternoon class to get back to they could have come later. The elevator unloaded a few people who headed in. Sam checked his watch. Dean had been gone nearly ten minutes. He opened the restroom door. Dean was leaning over the sink, staring at his reflection and his lips were moving silently. He caught Sam's eye in the mirror and blushed.

"Pep talk?" Sam asked lightly.

Dean nodded but was clearly uncomfortable. He slapped his own cheek and gave a curt nod. He was ready.

Garth appeared from the conference room as the brothers approached to re-enter. Dean's barriers stayed up. Sam knew Dean was hoping for a job where he could work in maintenance or fixing things up. He asked Garth, on Dean's behalf, if there were any such positions. Garth curled his bottom lip and apologized that there was nothing suitable and Dean had no qualifications. Sam could see Dean's shoulders sag ever so. Garth told them how there were educational opportunities like vocational night classes and possible apprenticeships, but not currently taking new registrations. He promised to make a note in Dean's case file to look at this again when the next intake was due.

The social worker clapped Dean's arm and advised, "It's all cool. You'll see. All the employers here want to take on at least one beneficiary. Just move around the tables. Point is to match you up. It's not a job interview per se."

Sam cleared his throat, "Are there tables which you advise us to visit or employers we shouldn't waste our time at?"

Garth hummed and rubbed his chin, "I won't lie to you Sam. A lot of the roles require good communication skills. Now that could be politically correct speak for 'not one of your immigrants', you get me?"

Sam gave a disgusted nod. Dean sneered obviously not wanting to work for prejudiced asshats, then huffed a long breath and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sam saw Garth giving Dean an assessing eye.

"Look," Garth whipped a notepad from his pocket and jotted down a few names while he spoke. "I was gonna tell you which employers are in the Palo Alto area or an easy public transport commute. There's a place looking for a mascot wearer, the Alison Hotel is taking on a few people, Caldicards, Greengoods, and there's the animal shelter in Mountain View."

Dean choked, "No dogs."

Sam sighed. He'd have like that job for himself and imagined picking Dean up from work and being able to scratch behind the puppies' ears.

"Noted." Garth handed over the sheet, "Okey dokey karaoke. Go get 'em."

Dean eye rolled but the perky words prompted his return to the room. More beneficiaries had turned up. The room was filled with mingled voices. Most attendees were young although there was a middle aged woman in a wheelchair and a guy in his thirties on crutches. Some were clearly intellectually challenged and with their parent or parents. A couple of people seemed absolutely fine to Sam's eye. They took a slow turn around the room spotting the names on Garth's short list. Dean saw a Sunnyvale multi-storey car lot's table and waited behind the guy being chatted to. Sam should have known anything to do with cars would be Dean's thing, but their overheard conversation turned from hopeful (as they needed someone with a driving license) to bust when it was made it clear that the ticket booth position required talking as a prerequisite. When the shopping mall wanted a 'greeter' and a small store on Garth's list wanted a cashier, Sam knew Dean has hit by the rejection. Who knew so many menial and simple jobs required good communication skills?

Sam wished vehemently that Dean could buck his head up and show these people who he was and who he could be but Dean seemed to shrink in the face of the professional strangers' judgment. It was frustrating for Sam that Dean had totally clammed up. He was shaking hands and nodding but gave no indication that he was capable of speech. Although Sam considered maybe it would be better in the long term, rather than having a communicative Dean today and then have his first day of work be a FURBAR when they expected him to be loquacious.

The Alison Hotel's table was manned by two uniformed employees. Dean looked interested in their A4 print out of the janitor cum litter picker's duties.

"Hello sir, Alison Hotel Group is a proud sponsor of the program." The mid-twenties dark haired guy said.

It took Sam a beat to realize that the greeting had been directed at him, not at Dean who was reading the job description.

"Oh, yeah?" Sam nodded down at the list of attendees on the employer's side of the table, "It's my brother, Dean Winchester, who is the beneficiary."

"Of course, Sir." Mr. School of Hotel Employee Politeness replied, "Does your brother have hearing issues?"

Sam wanted to punch somebody. It was a legitimate question in the circumstances, in a room with those who had disabilities, but if they had troubled to look at Dean's details they would have seen his profile. Dean threw the sheet onto the table and stalked to the next stand.

A mother stood to the side as her son spoke slowly to the pretty blonde manning the table. Dean and Sam waited their turn. She met Sam's eye and they nodded in acknowledgment. As her son finished up by shaking hands, the mother spoke to Sam, "Huey is so proud to be here today."

Sam's eyes widened. He guessed for some of those present taking the step of their first employment was a big milestone and achievement in their lives. But it shouldn't be like that for his Dean. There should have been college or a trade or an apprenticeship years ago. Dean should be making his way up the career ladder or heading to open his own business, or maybe be post-graduate like his boyfriend, not vying for litter picker or advertising placard holder.

When his mind returned to the present he was pleasantly surprised to see Dean was in flirt mode with the long haired blond in her pink turtleneck and cardigan. It was the greeting card maker that Garth had included on their list. Shelly was clearly enamored with Dean who broke out a smile for her. The place was ten minutes walk from San Antonio caltrain station. They wanted someone with the skills to assemble orders and dispatch the hand crafted greetings cards to their stockists. Shelly explained the shifts were two long ones at the end of the week. She asked if that would be suitable for Dean because some of the beneficiaries had said they weren't suited to working for more than four or five hours. They were a growing business and Shelly confided that her boss, the original Mrs. Caldecott, was hoping to expand in the future. Sam mused that maybe Dean could get a toe in there and maybe get off welfare if his hours grew with the business.

The Greengoods guy seemed interested in Dean's physique too, but not in the batting of eyelashes kind of way. They wanted a physically fit person to help stack their deliveries in the early morning. The dude was friendly. He was a supervisor named Mitchell and explained that Dean would be needed from 6am to 10am, Wednesday to Saturday. It would exceed his minimum twelve hours with the prospect of more after the trial period. The doors opened to customers at 8.30am so the majority of the fresh produce needed to be on display by then. It was an old family business and they already held the ticket for a guy called Carsten who had Downs and packed bags for the customers. The main selling point was the store's location. It was in Palo Alto on the corner of High Street and Channing. Sam knew that was near the high school and whispered that it wasn't far at all from Cowper Street. Dean could walk there easily or bum a ride from one of the housemates in bad weather, or maybe take the Impala some days.

The final few tables on that side of the room, a burger joint looking for a grill operator and a contract office cleaning company, were subject to the nadir of fake Dean smiles. Sam could tell that Dean was close to boiling as his brother vented his anger by viciously shuffling the leaflets and cards he had gathered. It hadn't helped when the cleaning company supervisor asked if Dean could read and write. He put a hand Dean's arm to calm him down. Sam made the executive decision not to see what job the golf course had open and steered his brother out of the room.

Dean was flushed and rigid. Sam wondered how he was expected to work for these people when it was clearly a trial for Dean to try and speak to them. Garth caught up with them and asked if Dean needed a few minutes but it was obvious to Sam that his brother had had enough. He was tensed to make the break. Sam asked if they could leave.

Through a clenched jaw Dean ground out, "I don't fucking like any of them Sammy."

Garth heard and tried to placate his charge, "I've been mingling and I can tell you now that Caldicards, Greengoods, and MyBurger are going to offer you work."

"Can't I come back to another day?" Dean hissed low at Sam's ear.

"Garth," Sam said clearly, "Dean would like know if he comes to the next open day can he choose then?"

"No I'm sorry, guys," Garth said with a regretful frown, "These are the choices. It is a condition of your welfare, Dean. But you know there is a trial period for you both to…"

"Yadda yadda," Dean muttered.

Sam tried not to laugh. "Look Dean, sounds like you're going to have a choice." He looked to Garth, "When do you need to know?"

"I'll be in touch over the next few days when the employers have given in their preferences and then Dean has until the end of the week to decide and we'll take it from there." Garth beamed as if it was all good.

Dean caught Sam's eye. It was time to hit the road. Sam thanked Garth on Dean's behalf. His brother was already pressing the elevator call button with brutal pressure. In the elevator car, Dean pulled out his cell and tapped a text message with stabbing motions. Sam wondered if Castiel was about to receive an expletive filled rant.

In the Impala, Sam tried to run through the positives, but Dean had tuned out, twisted to look out the shotgun window. He mentioned how with the new sleeping meds Dean could easily rise early enough to take the produce store job and have the rest of each day off. He tried teasing how Shelly had given Dean the eye, but there was no reaction. He gave it up as a waste of breath, turned on the radio and tried to tune his mind into getting back in time to catch the last two thirds of his humanities class. There was only so much he could try to fix or make perfect for Dean. He wished it had gone better, but all he could do was be there for his brother, help him when he started his new job, and hope that Dean would grow comfortable enough in the new environment to connect with his colleagues and enjoy the work.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	10. Nine

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dean took a long drink of the tea that Castiel had insisted he try. It was hot with milk rather than iced with lemon, and there was the disconnect that he was drinking something called English Breakfast Tea after 8pm, but it wasn't unpleasant, just different. He flipped the Greengoods business card between his fingers.

"So," Castiel said as he stretched his legs. His stocking feet went under the coffee table. "The fast food joint will make your skin greasy, the cleaning contractor was an assbutt, the produce store will have douchey customers, and the card maker only wants you as eye candy?"

Dean snorted at Castiel's negative summary of his grumbles. Sam had been driving him mental by looking at the positives of the four places he had been offered. He knew Sam was only trying to keep his spirits up and help Dean be more optimistic. The whole thing sucked. He knew he couldn't get out of it unless he wanted his welfare cut off. It was only twelve hours a week, or thirteen at Caldicards, or sixteen at Greengoods. It wasn't like he was lazy or aiming for a career as a couch potato. He wanted to work. Garth had called personally with the detailed job profiles. Dean suspected that the social worker had been concerned after his clammed up internal freak out at the open day. He was hardly doing home visits to each of the attendees. Garth reminded him again about trial periods and the easy process of transferring his ticket to another job. He spoke about other beneficiaries who had begun in jobs similar to the ones Dean had been offered and then when their potential and capabilities became evident had been promoted, done internal management training, or moved on to new careers outside the program.

"Seems to me," Cas said bringing Dean out of his meditations, "there are only two options. The card place or the store?"

Dean nodded. He had considered MyBurger, but the shifts were in the evening meaning he'd miss seeing Sam, and although he enjoyed cooking, monotonously flipping burgers and deep frying chicken did not appeal.

"'s the people," Dean muttered.

Castiel took a sip of his tea and waited for Dean to elaborate.

"I know I could do the packing and dispatching work. They never had a ticket before at the greeting cards place," Dean pushed out the words in one breath, "It's small, same people every day, and if some of 'em are douches, could be real freaking tricky to avoid 'em."

"Dean," Castiel shuffled closer, "The opposite is also true. If they are good folks, and you join their friendly team, you could find they worm their way into your affections."

"That's what Sammy said," Dean admitted. He huffed and turned his attention to the other job, "I wouldn't mind the physical work with the produce. It would be a work out and might help, y'know, with my walk and all. But when customers come in, y'know, and maybe want to talk to me and ask me shit."

"After a time you might feel comfortable answering a few of the common questions," Castiel said while Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow, "and if the store wants you, they have probably thought of how to handle that problem."

Dean twisted his lip. He nodded. Cas was right. Greengoods had another beneficiary working there and from what Garth said they had been taking people for years. Maybe their regular customers were also used to seeing employees with differences.

He would sleep on it, but he thought he might go for the local store. He tidied up his papers into a neat bundle and slung his arm around Cas's neck.

"Hey Cas babe, you wanna stick on the TV?"

"I guess," Castiel eyed him, "You good now?"

"Peachy," Dean grinned, "I'll tell ya tomorrow but I'm thinking of Greengoods."

Castiel nodded and flicked on Discovery. There were sharks, which was awesome. Dean pulled out the cushion from between them and hugged it to his middle, then snuggled in so he could rest his head on Castiel's shoulder.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The feel of Baby's wheel under his palms. Being seated on the left hand side of her. Revving the engine to Sam's gasp of horror. Inserting his new Back In Black CD into the player that his brother had installed. Turning the volume up until Sarah protested from the back seat. Dean felt like he had finally come home.

There was a very slight incident when Dean overshot the white line at the turn onto Alma. The Stop sign was mid-Impala and a Camry had to do a subtle swerve as it drove by. Sam's face paled. Sarah gasped. Dean shrugged it off, called the other innocent driver a sonvabitch for breaking the speed restriction and took the turn towards Menlo Park. El Camino Real was smooth sailing. Dean knew he had been right. Driving Baby was like riding a bike. Sam prompted him as they approached the stop lights for the turn onto Ravenswood Ave.

As they paused to wait for the passing Caltrain, Sam admitted, "OK Dean. You still have 'it'. The Impala is safe in your hands."

Dean fist pumped, low so that Sam could see but Sarah couldn't. The crossing re-opened and Dean eased his baby across the tracks. Sam pointed left to The Gates of Hell. The single story long building had a peaked roof of oriental design. Sam spotted Dean's wrinkled brow gaze at it and explained that Nick had bought it as a closed down Chinese restaurant. He directed Dean around to the rear employee parking spots.

"Come on in," Sam grinned at the other two. "I'll stand you guys a Coke."

"A Rum and Coke," Sarah teased, "I'm not driving."

"Geez Sarah, it's Monday afternoon," Sam clicked his tongue and waggled his finger as they followed.

"I bet your bartender is serving liquor." She winked, "But I'll have a Coke if Dean is."

They took the main entrance. It wasn't Sarah's first visit and she walked nonchalantly to take a stool at the high bar backed by the mirrored wall. Dean double blinked at the décor. They had stayed in all kinds of wacky motel rooms during their childhood, but red, black and purple won all prizes for freaky combo. There were red and crystal chandeliers, huge modern art pieces of splashes or blocks in the those colors, black lacquered chairs and stools, blood red booth benches, a huge bronze dragon (that could have been left behind by the previous owners) and sliver chains draped at points along the walls.

Dean felt eyes on him. He looked up at the bar to find a tall older guy undressing him with his eyes. The bartender wiped his hands on a white towel and creepily licked his lips at Dean.

Sam had disappeared to the staff room but was quick to return with his white waist apron on and a bar towel tucked into the waist band of his trousers.

"Dean, Sarah, meet Alastair our day manager." Sam introduced, "Can you put two sodas on my tab, please?"

"Anything for you Sam," Alastair drawled. To Dean's ear it sounded as if his statement was a dig at Sam's relationship with Nick, but Sam didn't rise to the bait.

Sarah ordered two Cokes. Sam waved at an edgy looking young blond guy with big eyes who was wearing chef's whites and heading for swinging double doors in the far wall.

"That's Max," Sam supplied, "Baldur must be off."

"Vacation." Alastair volunteered. "Now Dean, tell me how did you get all the pretty genes in your family."

Dean flushed but not from embarrassment. That was another insult aimed at Sam combined with a pointedly slimy come on. He got stuck for a comeback better than 'you're fugly', so kept his counsel.

Sarah took over reminding Dean that they wanted to get back to the Shopping Center. He hissed a question into Sam's ear as to if he had to work with the disturbing dude. Sam laughed and said Nick would be in soon to let Alastair go home.

With Sarah navigating they made their way back to Palo Alto. Once parked she proceeded to direct Dean to Macy's men's store. Luckily he lost her when she became absorbed in a sunglasses display, picking out a Valentine's gift for Scott. Dean headed for the clearance sale racks. He wanted to get a jacket for walking to the store in the early hours. Greengoods were going to supply him with an employee uniform but he figured he needed a few more essentials. The closeout section had packs of boxer briefs and plain boot socks on offer. He picked up a few plain v-neck tees to wear under his uniform. In the corner of his eye there was a flash of color. Dean snorted in amusement when he picked a candy striped jockstrap. He was very tempted to buy it for Cas, or to buy it to wear for Cas. There was an additional 10% off the clearance price. He stuffed it in between his other choices with a grin at the prospect of his boyfriend's reaction. In the rack of jackets there was a grey lightweight waterproof one. It wasn't going to win any runway awards but it was down to $29 from over a hundred bucks.

Dean was paying for his purchases when Sarah caught up with him. He was done with the shopping center but Sarah wanted to head over to Balthazar's shop. They carried a small range of way out clothing and Sarah wanted a Dark Willow or a Vamp Willow style dress to wear to a fancy dress party at Scott's place. Harmonies was tucked into a corner of the mall near Bloomingdales. Balthazar was at the counter selling a dream catcher to the tune of pan pipes. Dean tried to remember that patience was a virtue as he was subject to a montage of Sarah in various extremely similar Goth dresses. Opposite the fortune telling cards was a display of scented aromatherapy candles in glass jars. Dean perused them between dress viewings. The card in front of the Rosemary and Mint one claimed it aided memory and concentration and was a big seller at exam time. Dean brought the smallest size up to the sales desk. Sammy would probably spout off about the benefits or the quackiness of aromatherapy but his brother's reaction to the gift would be worth it.

"I hope that's not part of Cassie's Valentine, 'cause you do know he gets a staff discount here?" Balthazar chatted as he wrapped the glass in tissue paper, "Not that he buys anything except from the teas' shelf."

Dean shook his head.

"You know, you must allow me to cast a chart for you. I could do a synergy one for you and my cous. Aquarius, right?"

"I dunno," Dean muttered awkwardly. He didn't have much faith in astrology and from what Cas said, Dean thought he might find having his cousin do such a reading to be offensive. He wondered if this was Balthazar's weird attempt to get to know him better or be friendly. After all astrologer was the dude's profession, and he sounded like he had offered his services free gratis.

"Cassie is such a Virgo," Balthazar sighed dramatically, "serious, polite, considered, independent, even frugal. I know you Aquarians can be teases. Hell I dated a few. If you want my advice, don't push Castiel too hard, and remember to be kind to him."

Dean was torn between telling Balthazar he didn't need to give him the protective family member warning, and being suspicious that the older guy might actually be a touch psychic as Dean stood before him with a rainbow colored jock strap in his bag. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other as his candle was placed in a store logo gift bag. A new customer queued behind him. Balthazar rang up his purchase, freeing Dean to admire Sarah's final and preferred purple and black lace-sleeved dress.

Once the dress was bought they split up. Sarah headed for a cosmetics store while Dean drifted along the store fronts. Balthazar's mention of Valentines made him think he should get something for Cas. He had already dipped into his first welfare check for the clothes. He'd purchased a handy sackpack and six unwanted coffee mugs in their unwrapped box at a thrift store. He had his eyes open for a few cheap uncracked and unchipped plates for the kitchen too. He'd portioned out his check so that he would have money for coffees and stuff, but he had also put into the groceries fund for the house and paid Sam back the some of the dollars he had funded him in January. There wasn't much of a remainder. Garth had warned him that his new employer would have to set him up on their payroll meaning a possible couple of weeks delay in getting his first wages. Without planning it Dean ended up outside the bookstore where Jess worked on Saturdays. There was a display of 'Store Recommendations' on special. Dean noticed a science book called _The Elegant Universe_ by Brian Greene. It wasn't brand new so there was a chance that Cas possessed it already, but it looked sorta cool, and Dean thought a book with a gift receipt would be a better than a gift voucher.

On Thursday Dean was back behind the wheel of the Impala. Sam was at classes and he was heading to Greengoods for his induction training. They'd asked him to come in at 11am for a couple of hours. That time would be added to his first paycheck but he was not starting his regular shifts until the following Wednesday. He and Sam had scoped the place out under the pretence of buying an unnecessary quantity of avocados and bell peppers, so Dean knew where he could park his baby and what the basic layout of the store was. He hadn't taken a Xanax even though his palms were damp and his leg twitched. It wasn't a good idea to medicate his attendance at his job. Although it was daunting to go into a new place and situation, Dean knew at the back of his mind that he had a session with Victor later in the day and he could work through any anxieties there. He imagined using a compression vice to press down his fretting nerves. He tightened his jaw as the automatic doors slid back to admit him to the store. He was faced with the racking shelves of plastic crates full of fresh produce. The refrigerated units against the left wall held sauce pots, fruit salads and a selection of diary. The right side had three checkout points, manned by older ladies in their dark green uniforms, making beeping noises which peppered the nameless muszak. He stood statue-like gripping the string of his sackpack. Then Mitchell spotted him and strode over to clap him on the shoulder and welcome him to the team. Dean let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding at the sight of the wide shouldered brunet.

He was taken though easy swinging doors to a chilly warehouse area with a roll shutter back wall. Mitchell pointed out the heavy door to a chilled room for the diary and fresh juices, which needed the temperature lower than the cool storeroom. He explained that when Dean arrived in the mornings the area would be full of the deliveries that were dropped off to their night warehouse duo. Then they entered a wooden fire door. Mitchell typed in a code to a metal panel, telling Dean it was simply the Zip code. Stairs rose immediately in front of them and turned halfway on a landing with posters about fire drills, personal hygiene and customer service. The upper story was a short corridor with a well worn industrial brown carpet and white walls. The ceiling was low. Dean was fine but he thought Sammy's hair might graze the neon strip lights. On the wall opposite were slots with cardboard clocking cards and a dip-in clock punch machine. Dean looked for his name, which was easy when he realized the roughly twenty cards were in alphabetical order by family name. Mitchell quirked his lips in approval as Dean dunked his card without prompting.

The first two doors were the ladies' and men's restrooms which were reached by passing through a cloakroom with lockers and places to hang coats. Mitchell said they'd have a locker key for Dean next week. There was an office with a few computers and the security camera feed, the manager's office, another empty one with a long table, and a canteen with microwave, coffee machine, and refrigerator.

Mitchell knocked at the manager's door. He smiled at Dean and said he wanted to introduce him to their main man. The door opened and balding guy in a suit with prominent eyes and a presence of authority said, "You must be Dean Winchester, our latest ticket. Welcome to the Greengoods team. I'm Mr. Adler the younger."

Dean nodded and let out his breath slowly. He got the feeling that getting on Mr. Adler's bad side would be a very bad idea. The manager seemed to realize he hadn't put Dean at ease and leaned forward, "If you see an old dude in a long coat muttering to himself about the state of our apples, that's probably Mr. Adler senior."

Dean gave the expected smile but he thought it was on the cruel side to mock an elderly father who must have handed the business over to …. Dean squinted to read the manager's bronze name pin… Zachariah.

Mitchell confirmed that a delayed delivery had arrived before Mr. Adler retreated into his office to do store manager things, Dean presumed.

They entered the office with the long table, which Mitchell described as their meeting room. There was a TV and VHS player on top of a filing cabinet. His new colleague became business like as he organized the sequence of a few health and safety movies for Dean and pulled out a plastic sleeve of papers. There were forms for Dean to fill out his contact details and bank information. It seemed he was going to be paid directly into his account. He was thankful to Garth and Sam for making him go to the Wells Fargo on the campus where Sam did his banking. Mitchell disappeared to photocopy his ID while Dean watched people who lived in the 1970s evacuate a supermarket. He was mid remembrance of how good a movie Towering Inferno was when Mitchell returned to brief him on the fire exits and assembly point. There was an inane video, thankfully only five minutes, on how to wash your hands properly, and a longer one on manual handling. Then Mitchell took him into the canteen for a coffee. There was another guy there leaning against the small square window frame. He was short, almost squat, with tied back long black hair. He might have had Native American blood. Mitchell introduced Dean to Tony who was one of the night team and worked from two to twelve. He had clocked out but needed a caffeine fix before driving home to La Honda. The two guys exchanged a few words about baseball and Tony's kids, making sure to include Dean in their eye line so that he knew he was part of the conversation. When Tony said he was hitting the road, Dean gave him a short wave goodbye.

Back in the meeting room there was a final movie about preventing accidents which was mind numbing and Dean thought the pharmaceutical industry would be threatened if the film was marketed as a soporific. Mr. Adler popped his head in to check on them. Mitchell dragged his seat back and stood up, so Dean did too. He reminded his supervisor about Dean's uniform. Mitchell cringed when the boss was gone and apologized for forgetting. He took Dean's sizes, explaining they had some in storage but could order any extras. Dean was getting a couple of pairs of heavy combats, a few polo shirts, and a warm vest all in the company green. They would also give him some gloves. He needed to wear their steel toes boots. They would make up a name pin with a message on it. Mitchell pointed at his which said Supervisor under his name. He explained some colleagues had 'hablo Español' or such. He looked a touch uncomfortable when he told Dean that his pin would say he was mute and would be a larger size so it was easier for the customers to see. Dean wasn't best pleased with anything that would single him out as different. Mitchell explained that Carsten, their bag packer, also had a large pin so customers did not presume to vent complaints at him or demand too much of him.

They finished off in the warehouse where Mitchell ran though the labeling which helped tell the different varieties from each other and Dean had a practice at correct lifting procedures. Mitchell clapped him on the shoulder again and said he looked forward to working with him bright and early the next Wednesday.

Dean took a deep breath and said, "Thank you, Mitchell, see y'all then."

"Good God," Mitchell laughed, "I know your Ticket to Work resume said you had speech capability, but you caught me off guard there, Dean. See you later."

Back at the house, Dean changed into his old jeans and poured himself a long juice. He just had time to make a chicken sandwich before driving over to Stanford Medical Clinic. Sam would meet him after the appointment with Victor and they'd share the ride home. He wondered what Victor would want to talk about. He chewed on the chicken wishing he had picked up Hellmann's rather than using the lite Miracle Whip that was in the refrigerator. The morning had gone well. He knew before he went that he would be able to do the work but seeing the business was a normal and organized place had been good. He thought he might tell his psychiatrist about how Sam was going out with Nick on a date that evening and how he had his own arrangements for Valentines tomorrow with Cas. Nick's restaurant was booked solid for Valentines with three sittings starting from early. There was a special love themed menu. Dean had nearly gone hyperglycemic by psychic osmosis when he read the printed four course menu for the Gates. He was glad Castiel had suggested pizza and a beer.

He did have one thing to bring with him to Victor. In the bedroom, Dean pulled his wallet from the sackpack and stuffed it in his pocket with a printed out e-mail.

Being his third visit to the clinic, Dean had gotten used to hatchet-faced-Frances. He figured the wind had changed when the secretary had been grimacing. It was five past the hour when Victor entered from the hallway wearing his white coat. Dean raised his brows.

"Hello Dean, my apologies, I was delayed on the ward."

Dean stiffened. Seeing Dr Henricksen in his warm office had helped him distance the psychiatrist from his role as a hospital physician. He trailed in and took his place on the crap colored sofa.

Victor took a few moments to prepare and take his usual seat. "Tell me your news, Dean. How have the new sleeping meds suited you?"

"Good."

Victor inclined his head and waited. Apparently they weren't doing closed questions or silent answers today.

"I had a few nightmares but not bad, y'know. I didn't wake Sam and they weren't the worst." Dean flicked his fingers against his thigh. "Just Dad ones."

"Why do you think your father is featuring in your dreams?"

"I don't know man. Maybe he was such a dreamy dad," Dean snapped sarcastically. "Maybe 'cause I'm InARelationshipWithAGuy'n'DadWouldTakeItOutOfMyAssIfHeKnew."

Victor freaking hummed at the confession. "You are a twenty four year old adult. He has no authority over you and never had the right to abuse you."

Dean snorted. He wanted to tell the shrink to talk to his hand 'cos his face wasn't listening.

"How are things with Castiel?"

"Good," Dean beamed, "We are going for pizza and beer tomorrow. Only one or two beers, Mr. Doctor, I know with my meds…"

"I wish my wife would go for that Valentine," Victor grinned.

Dean smiled. That was the first mention his doctor had made of his personal life. It was good, like Victor trusted him.

"Sammy's got a date tonight."

"With his older boss?" Victor checked using few words to ping on Dean's lingering uneasiness about Sam's relationship.

"Ah-hum. He bought condoms." Dean scratched his neck, "I saw them in his book bag."

"That's good, yes?" Victor eased back in his chair, "It means your brother is being safe."

"I suppose," Dean bit his lip. "I saw condoms in the over sink cabinet in Cas's bathroom. I mean they could be his cousin's but he has them in the house."

Victor looked like he was trying to keep his professional mask in place over a compulsion to laugh. Dean glared at him.

"Are you considering taking your relationship to a more intimate physical level?"

"I want Cas." Dean blurted. "I want him to fuck me."

"Well, that's cleared up then." Victor's pen made an entry on his pad.

Dean huffed, "More than fuck me. I want him. I want him to want me. I want to lie in bed after we have fucked and listen to his heartbeat."

"You want to make love to him?" Victor suggested.

"Suppose." Dean shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. That was too chick flick, too full of the four-letter L word that was too risky to expose his core to, but yet it was a much more accurate description of what Dean wanted than 'fucking'.

"Are you going to ask your boyfriend to 'fuck' you?" Victor checked, "Because that is not the most romantic language."

Dean chuckled. "Guess not."

Victor shook his head slowly, "Why don't you let the mood take you and if your partner is on board, move it to the bedroom?"

"I can't believe you are giving me sex therapy, man," Dean snorted. "My life is weird."

"Tell me, how did the first day on the job go?"

Dean shrugged, "It was easy pie. I watched some museum piece safety videos and got a tour from the supervisor. Met the manager, seems to have a stick up his ass, but he is the manager. Got fitted for my stylish threads; polo and combat combo in dark viridian."

"Good to hear," Victor looked Dean in the eye, "Have you brought me anything to read?"

Dean licked his lips. It was time to hand over the e-mail. He hadn't worked out what he felt about it yet, but he guessed this was the place to do that. "I… huh… didn't journal much.. ahem… I got an e-mail on Sam's account."

He stood up and handed over the folded sheet of paper. He watched Victor's eyes move back and forth across the page.

_aaronbass1979 :_  
_I can't believe it. I cannot believe it. Syd called me at like 3AM here. Hell I thought our Grandfather had bit the dust… When he told me I dropped the phone, then told him someone had fed him the happy pills, but he said Sam had found you, that your Ben Zona of a father sent you away. Fucking hell, man, it's been like seven years. I don't even know what to write. I thought of you lots. You were my lost boyfriend, my oytser... I didn't come out of my room for a week after your jackass father tore you and Sam out of Speedway. I'd love to catch up. I don't know when I'll be back on American soil, but e-mail me back, Dean. Please do. I bet you are still a sexy dog. LOL._  
_Ciao Bello, Aaron._

Dean's stomach clenched. He got the treat of an acidic sandwich and juice reappearance. He moistened his lips again waiting for Victor to speak.

"More than a friend." Victor stated. "He seems overjoyed that you are alive, but you seem conflicted."

"He… we were close." Holy mother of pie, he couldn't say it. He had spent so many years with Aaron's name as his private secret. "He was… we were… Aaron was the father."

Victor's neck craned forward, "This boy, man, was the father of your baby?"

Dean wiped his mouth and jaw with his hand, "You freaking sound like you don't believe me."

"Your files."

"Yes?" Dean narrowed his eyes.

"There was a presumption made… you refused to divulge who had gotten you pregnant… It was thought you had been raped..."

Dean's jaw dropped and stayed open.

"…By your father."

Dean sucked a loud heaving breath, "That's sick. Oh my God. That's… Jesus… when they demanded who… they thought my Dad…"

Dean leaned over and vomited a mouthful of spit and bile onto the carpet. "He wouldn't…." Dean gave a hacking cough as Victor kneeled beside him with tissues, "He had this twisted up, alcohol and grief corrupted love for us… but never that… and I disgusted him… He only touched me to hit me… What the hell? They all thought that?"

Victor spoke low, "They didn't know. You wouldn't tell. But your history, your symptoms, the pregnancy… it was interpreted as abuse."

Dean snorted. "I am telling you. Screw this." He got up and walked to the window, "The baby was Aaron's. Aaron Bass. And my father did not abuse me."

"Not sexually." Victor added the postscript.

The words that went unsaid were that Dean had been abused in other ways, mentally, emotionally and physically. He sighed deeply. He didn't come looking for more analysis of his relationship with his father, or expecting to learn that all those sketches he had done for Layla must have been viewed with that slant. He came to figure out shit.

"Should I tell him?" Dean chewed his lip. Victor raised an eyebrow. Dean continued, "Tell Aaron about the baby. He never knew. I'd found out in Batesville. I was going to tell him. Dad was gone and I had to take care of Sammy, and I was so sick… but when Dad came back I was going share the news with Aaron. I mean it was his baby too."

"Why didn't you ask for him at the Batesville Hospital? As the baby's father they would have been obliged to inform him for you."

Dean hissed, "And tell him what? You're ex-boyfriend can't even hold onto a fetus? Your old flame is being committed to the crazy house. You wanna come see the loser?"

"You are not a loser."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.

"I know that. I know it now, but back then when the blade of a scalpel was the brightest thing in my life…" Dean gave a nasal huff, "It was not happening. I was my shitstorm."

"Do you still feel as if your burdens are your own? Not to be shared."

Dean shifted uneasily. Victor had hit pay dirt. Dean disliked being a burden to Sam, although his brother wanted him in his life. The notion of adding to that by getting touchy feely or talking about emotional crap with Sam was just plain wrong. He'd spilled his guts to Cas a few times but it was different somehow. Castiel was solid. He didn't cry, except once over the scars, and he was interested, like as if he wanted to know everything about Dean. Sometimes Dean thought those piercing blue eyes could see inside him, all the way to his fractured soul.

"I guess I was raised to be a man, to bear my burdens. But jeepers, Vic, I've spent gazillions of hours in Group. I know about sharin' and carin'."

"But do you? Would you? Let's just say you have a bad day at work. Would you tell Sam?"

Dean shook his head, "Depends. If we were having a bitchin'… I think I'd text Cas or go see him. Or save it all up to dump on your lap." Dean laughed.

Victor nodded, "You can do that. I see you've had that email for a few days. I am here, but you have the journal if you don't want to ask others, and I think sharing ups and downs with your brother might be acceptable. Life is always going to throw issues in our paths. I want to know at our next session how you have dealt with an everyday problem that made you anxious."

Dean nodded. Their time was up. He took the email back and folded it carefully into his pocket. "I don't think I'll tell him. Why cause him pain or confuse him now?"

"It is your choice, Dean. I will not tell you what to do. I wouldn't like you to experience guilt or regret if you tell Aaron. On the other side of the coin, he is the person who would understand best you own grief."

Dean weighed his grief against spoiling Aaron's happiness and found the scales tipped to 'don't tell'.

He was still chewing over Victor's words when Sam tapped on the Impala window.

"Good session?" Sam asked as he sat in.

"Told him about Aaron." Dean said as he pulled out of the space. Victor had helped him. He had been able to sort out his scattered thoughts.

"Wow," Sam huffed, "Did he get all analyzer on your ass?"

"They thought Dad was the baby's father." Dean clicked his tongue.

Sam was stunned. He gaped at Dean. "They did not!"

"They did, the whole freaking lot of 'em. "

"That's messed up."

"I know, Sammy." Dean humphed. Sam understood. "So where is the big super massive date to then?"

"We're going to The French Laundry. Our reservation is at seven. Nick says the tasting menu will be like nothing I ever experienced. It's all sensations, tastes and sublime delicacies."

"Sounds like food porn." Dean grinned.

"God I hope so," Sam laughed, "I sent my only jacket to the cleaners for this."

Dean eye rolled, "You must like him."

"We aren't all so allergic to formal clothes," Sam teased, "If I do become a lawyer it will be all suits and loafers."

"Sure Matlock." Dean snorted.

Sam punched his upper arm.

"Hey Bitch, driving here."

"Jerk." Sam laughed.

When Sam came home on Friday morning to change his clothes and grab his books for class, Dean smirked at him from his futon. Dean thought he looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep. Even under the interrogation of a brotherly headlock Sam claimed that he and Nick hadn't 'gone all the way'. Dean was sure they went damn near.

That evening, in the spirit of Valentine pranking, Dean filled a condom with water and left the balloon as a gift on Sam's bed. He checked he had his key, wallet and the book for Cas. He was holding back on the joke jock strap for now. He admired his own buns in his tight fitted jeans, that surely would scream 'lick here' to Castiel. Winking at mirror-Dean, he proceeded to walk down the stairs with only one foot on each step. Sarah appeared in her purple and black dress. She had straightened her hair and had drawn blue veins on the side of her face.

"Whoa!" Andy moaned with his hand on his forehead, "Did I fall asleep and wake up on Halloween?"

Sarah giggled, "The party… remember… fancy dress… me and Scott."

"I have no clue." Andy huffed, "I can't keep up with all these new guys and yet no-one wants some Andy-lovin'."

"Maybe that's because you call it Andy-lovin' and you invite girls to see the back of your van." Sarah gave an indulgent smile, "What about Tracy?"

"Ash impressed her with his big brain." Andy sighed, "Hey Dean? How about blowing off your teacher-dude and settling down on the sofa for a death match?"

Dean gave him a 'seriously' look and waved the two housemates goodbye.

Castiel was ready and waiting. They walked down Lytton to Alma Street. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean and complimented his jeans and the plaid over shirt Bobby had sent him. In return Dean rubbed against Cas's leather jacket and said he liked him in blue. He thought the blue crew neck tee and navy shirt brought out Cas's eyes. Dean felt that they looked good together. Cas had made an attempt to tame his hair but it was too naturally wild to sit perfectly, and Dean liked that.

The Pizza Cave was a causal restaurant with earthy stucco walls to give it the feel that matched its name. The diners were a mix of students and those on a Valentine's date. There wasn't a window table available but Dean didn't care when he and Cas got a sweet spot in an alcove. It gave them privacy and Castiel didn't object when Dean took the side with his back to the wall so he had a view of the room. Not that he was planning on looking much beyond Cas, but it was like taking the twin bed closer to the motel room door or having a good panoramic view of the rec room.

The menu was short, a few set pizzas and then a version of all you could eat where you could chose as many topping as you wanted on a 20" Wagon Wheel for $20. Dean really wanted to try that. He wanted to share a giant pizza and eat until they had to open their fly buttons, but he wasn't sure that Cas would go for it.

"Would you like to see if we could take on a Wagon Wheel?" Cas asked him. "I've seen them at other tables and always wanted to try. Balthazar insists that he won't vary from his spinach, tomato and bacon favorite."

"We could get chicken, jalapeno, bacon, spicy sausage and tomatoes." Dean's eyes grew as his appetite flooded his mouth.

"And basil, extra cheese and mushrooms?" Castiel checked.

"And extra onions?" Dean licked his lips.

"Plenty of onions, but no spinach."

"And no anchovies."

"Agreed," Castiel beamed. "Two Coors?"

Dean nodded. The waitress approached and Castiel gave in their order. They drank their beer and picked at the breadsticks. Dean became fascinated with the way Castiel's lips wrapped around the bottle top.

Castiel talked about a boy in his 9th grade class who kept to himself and never spoke up. The kid, Jesse, had submitted the best project idea for the upcoming science fair, but Cas was concerned about his home life. Other teachers had said Jesse's mom was raising him on her own, but there had never been an issue. "Do you think I should say something?" He asked Dean.

"To CPS?" Dean gawked.

"No." Castiel shook his head, "Lord, I don't have that sort of evidence. I meant to Jesse? Ask him if everything if good at home?"

Dean thought back to all the teachers who must have faced such questions about him and Sam. The fear that they would be separated, that Dad would find out they had raised suspicions. "I think you'd need to be more, kinda, subtle. Like maybe tell the principal you are suspicious, and then let Jesse know that you'll listen if he wants to ask you anything."

"But is that enough? I mean, what if he is in trouble or she is neglecting him?" Castiel took a gulp of beer, "and I did nothing."

"What about the school nurse? Or if Jesse plays sports, his coach could keep a look out for signs of bruises or weight loss?"

Cas nodded, "Yeah. Thanks Dean. We are taught about these things, but it's different when you face them in reality. You are right. I need to talk to the rest of the staff and my supervisor. Maybe he is a different boy in other classes. It might be me!"

"You mean he's crushing on you?" Dean smirked.

Castiel spluttered a denial, "I never. No. Not. Really?"

"Maybe he is shy cos he likes you." Dean suggested.

"Oh Good Lord. It's like a nest of vipers." Castiel raised his eyes skyward, "I'm gonna have to tread carefully."

"Joys of teaching, hey Cas?" Dean raised his beer. He could see two waitresses carrying over a huge round plate with the edges of pizza crust spilling over the side. It was their meal. Dean's face went slack and his eyes almost glazed over at the divine aroma and sight of the colorful topping. Sam and Nick could take their Michelin Stars and keep the shiny bastards. This was food. Honest American all good huge and dripping in cheese and bacon with piles of onions.

"Are we going to eat all of this?" Cas gasped.

"I'm agonna give it my best shot." Dean promised.

Talking wasn't possible, but not due to anxiety. Castiel chewed and savored each bite. Dean inhaled his first triangle but slowed down then and closed his eyes as he made the occasional food-moan.

"You know," Dean said when they were over half way through, "I don't think I'm going be able to walk to a bar after this."

Castiel caught the waitresses eye, "Two more beers here, please."

"You are a good boyfriend," Dean fake-simpered, "taking care of me."

"I should hope so," Castiel responded firmly, "Now cut me that slice with the extra bacon."

"Yessir," Dean snorted and sacrificed his intended slice in favor of romantic sentiment.

Dean was right again. They could barely move. The pizza was gone save for a stray olive that had found its way into their feast. Dean burped magnificently. Castiel opened his mouth to comment and made a corresponding quieter but rolling belch, then flushed red with embarrassment.

Cas is adorable, Dean thought.

"Why thank you my handsome well fed date," Cas snickered.

Dean closed his lids while blaming his brain for doing the speech instead of internal monologue again.

"Pie?" Dean beamed.

"Do not threaten me with more food." Castiel moaned.

"Cannoli?" Dean's stomach was so full it would be a waste of a good pie to stuff it in there.

"One Cannoli." Castiel sighed in defeat, "one shared Cannoli."

Dean grinned and formed his plan. When the ganache filled treat arrived Dean picked it up and came around to Castiel's seat. He held it up for Cas to bite into his end then placed his own lips around the other end and sucked most of the filing out. Then he collapsed in laughter.

"That was mean." Castiel pouted.

"Mean and sexy." Dean amended.

Castiel licked a speck of chocolate from the corner of his mouth and agreed. "Come on Dr Sexy, let's go home."

Dean put his hand down finding the book, "I never gave you…" he handed it over, "Happy Valentine."

A glorious smile broke across Castiel's face. He ripped the paper off and turned the book over to look at the blurb on the back. "I've dipped into this in the library but I don't have a copy. Thank you Dean. It's a great gift. I love it."

Dean ducked his head, pleased but uncomfortable with the loving praise. A small package appeared next to his beer.

"I didn't get a card." Castiel said apologetically.

"Did 'ya see a card with the book?" Dean replied gruffly, "They all had pink fluffy crap on 'em."

Castiel gave a knowing smirk, as if he also had looked but not purchased a card.

Dean unfolded the paper. It was a wallet. A really nice soft leather Diesel wallet. Dean opened it up. There was something hard inside. It was a key.

"For if you want to come over anytime," Castiel shrugged self-consciously, "I checked it with Balthazar. You know if your housemates are grating on you or you just want somewhere quiet."

"Thanks Cas," Dean breathed, not sure that he'd go to Cas's house when he wasn't home but it was a real thoughtful thing to do. "That's awesome and the wallet is pretty awesome too."

They went Dutch on the check and strolled home at a much slower pace. There was no sign of Balthazar. Castiel texted him. He was out with Suzy. Dean's brows rose. He was sure Balthazar was dating a Catherine.

Castiel offered a coffee. Dean accepted and waited in the family room. There was a piano behind the door. It had a layer of dust, but he wondered if Cas or Balthazar played.

When Castiel returned they nestled into their favorite spots on the sofa. Castiel rested his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair, absently restyling it to messy sex-hair. Castiel turned his neck to look up and Dean's breath caught. The light hit Castiel's face making it supremely kissable. Dean bent to take those lips. Castiel's tongue stroked along the inside of Dean's bottom lip. He gave a pretty moan that had the blood rushing to Dean's dick.

"Cas," Dean said hoarsely.

"Yes Dean," Castiel breathed with an added pant.

"Can we move this to the bedroom?"

Dean held his breath.

"Are you sure?" Castiel checked but his hand massaging Dean's chest messaged that his body was on board with the suggestion.

"Hell yeah," Dean emphasized with a deep kiss.

Castiel helped him to his feet with a hand. His room was across the hall. It was huge with a king bed, a massive old dark closet, a big desk and long windows. Castiel eased Dean onto the bed. He moved away to draw the curtains and find lube and condoms. Dean took the chance to peel off his clothes, down to his boxer briefs. Castiel grinned at the speedy strip. Cas's jeans were gone but Dean helped him pull off the shirt and tee. There were acres of pale skin just waiting for Dean to touch and taste. They made it to the bed. Dean climbed up Castiel's body and sucked hard on his collar bone. His nose filled with the scent of Castiel and the fine spice of the long ago applied aftershave. Cas's hands found Dean's ass cheeks. He held and massaged. Dean moved down his sternum with his hickeys tasting Castiel's soft skin. Cas muttered his approval and something about no visible marks for the school. Dean worked his way back up and extended his neck.

"Mark me, Cas."

Castiel didn't need to be asked twice. He flipped them with more agility than Dean thought he possessed. Then Cas's hot mouth was pulling and sucking at Dean's neck. It was glorious. He caught the sheets with his fists and moaned into the sensation. Cas's hand trailed down, lifting and cupping Dean's balls. He was rock hard now. Dean flexed his fingers out from the sheet and found Castiel's cock. It was hard, just for Dean, leaking and straining up. The power made Dean heady, as Castiel's nails traced back to Dean's hole. There was the snick of a lube cap. Castiel rubbed his fingers together to warm it. And damn if Dean nearly cried at the tender consideration of that simple kind gesture. The first finger was easy but strange after so many years. Dean pushed down on it using his body to tell Cas he could take more.

Between kisses to each of his nipples, Cas muttered that he didn't want to cause Dean any pain. At the second finger Dean pulled Castiel's body closer so he could bite on his shoulder and urge him on. Cas seemed to scissor him forever keeping Dean on edge, breathless and rolling in stimulation. The sensations aimed for bliss. Their cocks met, driving Dean crazy and tipping Castiel to the point where he rolled on the latex.

"You good? Like this?"

Dean interpreted Castiel's question about positions. He knew it would be easier if he turned but he wanted to see Cas come apart. He lifted his hips.

The blunt head teased him, pushing oh so slowly. Dean's head fell back. It burned but in a good way. It pushed and stretched him. He bit down on his lip. Castiel was moaning praise at how good Dean was, how hot, how much of a sexy man, how special. The words washed over him. Finally totally and completely filled, Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel's passion glazed face. He sought Castiel's hand with his and pressed their palms together. Castiel searched his eyes and Dean nodded. He was expecting thrusts and being pushed bodily, but Castiel was slow and smooth and gentle. He wrapped his free hand around Dean's neglected cock and worked on his vein with his thumb. Dean wrapped his legs around Cas's body, seating him better and helping Cas to find his prostate. And there it was. He gave a high pitched hiss. Brushing against his gland, Castiel's nail on his slit, and the all encompassing feeling of being together pushed him over the edge and he came with a full body quiver and a scream of "Cas."

Cas lost it when Dean orgasmed. He drove into Dean, pulling out and then fully seating again. Dean heaved recovery breaths and tightened his legs on Cas's waist. That was enough and it was Castiel's turn to shudder and pant. He held steady while he shot his load. Dean was almost sorry there was a condom. He wanted to be painted in Iridescent Pearl.

Castiel was dirty. He lifted the hand decorated in Dean's spend and licked it like a lollipop while Dean watched with his lips parted and eyes wide. He touched Dean's lower lip with the same pointer finger and Dean kissed it. Castiel moved off the bed. Dean made a small noise of complaint but his lover was only disposing of the condom and getting a warm damp flannel to wipe Dean's stomach tenderly and clean them both off. Castiel flicked off the light and snuggled down next to him. He pulled the previously kicked off comforter over them both and nuzzled into Dean's ear.

"You were perfect, Dean."

"You weren't so bad," Dean rejoined lightly and told how special he really felt by wrapping Castiel in his arms.


	11. Ten

It was chilly. Dean reckoned he was lucky if it was hitting forty degrees. It had gotten cold in the Ozarks. His, occasionally biting, walks to work didn't bother him, and in the last few mornings there had been pre-dawn light breaking in the eastern sky. If he was running late or it was Saturday, he took the Impala, but normally he left Baby for Sam to get to class on time. Dean pushed back his jacket sleeve as he approached the open roll shutter at the rear of Greengoods. His watch read 5.52am. A grin spread across his face. Two minutes faster. Dean clocked the time he stepped off the porch each morning. If he stopped to buy a bottle of water at the all night store, or to make a super quick sketch in his tiny notepad, then he didn't measure that day's walk, but he was definitely getting faster. Next week would be his fourth week of work, and he considered adjusting his scheduled morning leaving time to five minutes later.

Inside the warehouse, Tony and Joe had the pallets and roll cages lined up for the morning crew. There would be another couple of deliveries but most of the fresh produce had arrived. The night team would have the items that had not fit on the shelves in previous day ready to roll at the top of the line. Dean waved in greeting and received cheery salutations in response. He dipped his clockcard and dumped his coat and sackpack into his locker. In the canteen Risa and Jeffery sipped steaming coffees. Dean took a cup of water, having made his morning coffee to almost Turkish strength back at home.

"Annie wants me on a checkout tomorrow." Risa's growl was kind of scary.

"She doesn't?" Jeffery's mug paused on the way to his mouth.

"Kate's got her end of quarter exams next week and Mr. Adler gave her study leave and then promised Annie I'd cover Kate's Saturday morning shift." Risa hissed out the words.

Dean inclined his head in sympathy. Risa didn't particularly look like it but she could heft sacks of potatoes, squashes and yams with the best of the guys. He'd seen Risa flinging bar-coded items over the scanners and plunking weighted items on the cashier scales, when she had to cover a break. He kind of pitied Monica and Shirley if they had a storm cloud working next to them all day tomorrow. It was decent of Mr. Adler to grant Kate the weekend off. The pretty blonde freshman only did Saturday and Sunday. She was bright and friendly, always said 'Hi' to Dean, and had invited him to a party last weekend, which might have been a date if Dean had accepted. There was a round of good humored teasing of how Kate fancied the strong silent type. Monica and Nora were more reserved and cliquey, keeping to themselves. Shirley who was in her fifties was like a momma-bear and brought in baked muffins for the crew every Friday. Annie was another kettle of fish. She had a scary-sexy vibe similar to Risa and was extremely competent at her job. Annie and Mitchell were the supervisors Dean worked with but he had met the third senior employee, Irv, who started his shifts at a later hour.

"I mean she only works from opening to lunchtime," Risa was still grousing about Kate while she rinsed out her mug. "They should train you as a cashier, Dean. It would serve the moaning customers right if they couldn't get a sympathetic response."

Dean held up his hands and backed away a step at the idea causing Jeffery to break out his donkey bray of a laugh. He truly hoped the suggestion was a bad tasting joke, because he had enough frustration dealing with early morning customers who asked him for produce. Most were happy when he showed them where the items were, or held up his pointer finger for them to wait while he checked the storeroom. A few now knew he rarely spoke and were smiley and grateful for his silent help. New customers and some of the regulars still checked his ear cavities for hearing aids, shouted their requests, or gave him the same pitying looks that Carsten was subjected to.

As Dean pulled out a crate of yesterday's artisan cheese delivery, he thought about how exam fever seemed to have infected every student he knew, turning them into red-eyed insomniacs, popping caffeine pills, and retreating on pilgrimages to the library and their bedrooms. Even Castiel was on edge with his bedroom desk and the dining table covered in books and papers. Balthazar had these cushioned lap trays for eating in front of the TV. He had explained to Dean that the trays were a quarterly exam time essential.

Sam had taken it to another level. Dean was thinking about grinding down a few Xanax and spiking Sam's food with them. His baby brother's determination to meet his scholarship grade was fanatical. Dean got it. If Sam's grade's dropped for this quarter he would have to get something impossible like top of the class or straight A-plusses in the spring semester, or else lose his full ride, and there was no family trust fund in the Winchester back pocket.

By the time Dean was replacing empty tomato display cases with full ones, all the morning crew had arrived for work. Mr. Adler was freaking straightening up the bananas so that they leaned together in a more orderly fashion. He was glad that Wayne had been on that unit, because being smarmily shown how to place a banana on a shelf by Zachariah might have caused Dean to bite through his tongue in an effort to stay chilled. On his way to the back areas the store manager stopped to admire Dean's full shiny tomato display. He reached into the top crate of the empty stack and pulled out the beefsteak tomato with the split skin which Dean had taken off sale. Dean licked his lips. He never knew if Zachariah was going to criticize, say nothing but delegate his comments to Mitchell, or offered cringing praise. It was un-nerving and one of the things about his job that set Dean's teeth on edge.

This time Zachariah was pleased. He gave a grimacing smile, patted Dean on the arm and before walking off said, "Good Boy."

Dean steamed inside. He detested the way the old balding dick would pat him and praise him like he was some prize sheepdog herding up his wayward vegetables. He wanted to complain about it to Garth, but it wasn't exactly discrimination, just condescending and demeaning praise. He deliberately skipped over the roll cage of delicate berries so he could slam crates of onions onto their display.

"Hey Dean!" Risa called, "They were my temper venting onions!"

Dean snorted with laughter. He eyed the main door to make sure they were still closed, then gifted his colleague with the sight of his raised middle finger.

He was sweaty and achy by 10am. He betted he had built more muscle mass in the past few hours than Sam would on Stanford's gym equipment in a week. He popped into Beans on the way home and pointed at a tall latte. Tamara was behind the counter with a very beautiful black haired woman in a stylish pant suit.

"To go Dean?" Tamara asked with a smile, but there a slight tension to her grin.

Dean nodded and cocked his eye towards the executive looking woman with the heavy gold bracelet and necklace set who seemed so out of place.

"Dean meet Light Up Your Beans' owner Andrea," Tamara introduced, "Ms Kormos, this is Dean – one of our regulars and my eye-candy fix."

Dean eye rolled at Cas's colleague.

"Pleased to meet you Dean." Andrea's smile did not seem forced and Dean warmed to her a touch, "I don't get to visit my Palo Alto branch as much as I would like. My ex-husband and I opened our first Light Up Your Beans in Eagle Harbor and the Washington shops keep me busy."

Dean nodded politely. He hadn't known Beans was a pacific coast chain. There was a slight emphasis on Andrea's divorced status. Tamara picked up on it too.

"Dean is Castiel's partner." Tamara announced as she poured the frothed milk into the tall cup.

"Well in that case, you must take the latte with my compliments." Andrea insisted. "Castiel is one of my most loyal employees. I will be very sad to lose him when he seeks a teaching position in the Fall."

"Thank you," Dean's voice was hoarse. He needed the coffee to wet his throat. He hadn't been in the right headspace for making workplace comments.

After his shower Dean stretched out on his futon with Black Sabbath on his Discman. He dutifully wrote his journal. The topic of choice was how he'd like to install Zachariah on a bench and smash his head in with a relay of coconuts. He added a postscript of reasonable sentences about wishing he could call the boss out on his patronizing behavior. He thought he could conjure up a scream of "Fuck you," but he imagined his pink slip would soon follow that course of action.

Sam stomped up the stairs and flung his body into the room.

"Fucker. Prof Gilmore is a fucking fucker." Sam seethed.

Dean pulled out an ear bud. "Huh Sam?"

"A dickbag. A sneaky fucker." Sam threw his book bag on his bed. "Gender Psych class, right Dean?"

Dean nodded urgently.

"Last week, he hints the exam paper will have psycho-social development, androgyny and sex crimes. We've all been scrounging through journals and sharing the copies of books on the reading list," Sam kicked the leg of his bed, "Then he comes in today and says oops sorry class I'd read Eysenck, stereotyping and gender equality, but hey he adds, you'll all have a well rounded knowledge of this class won't you?"

"Can he do that?" Dean gasped.

"Now we don't know whether to believe him and we're gonna havta cram every fucking class since Christmas." Sam flopped his ass onto his mattress. "I don't need this. I just don't. My freaking World History exam is 7 to 10pm the night before this one and I won't have time to re-read the whole frigging textbook before I go in."

"Everyone else will be in the same boat," Dean tried.

"Everyone else doesn't need a freaking A." Sam's chest heaved. He pulled his next class notebook from the pile on the floor. "It's our last class with Dr Rutherford. His TA is doing the revision class next week. Last time to ask him a pertinent question, if I could only think of one."

Dean let Sam get absorbed in his notes. He puttered around, checking the moisture of Spider's soil and straightening his bedclothes.

"Dean?"

Dean turned round. Sam had the glaring bitchface on. He cleared his throat, "Can you be quiet please?"

Dean sucked in his lips to hold his patience. He understood his brother was stressed but he was being freaking quiet. He'd even turned off his music in case it drifted out of the ear buds. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Why haven't you asked Nick for study leave?"

"Why haven't I?" Sam gaped at him, "What the fuck?"

"Kate at work's got the next few days off." Dean muttered.

"Maybe because I was freaking lucky to have a job after our deadbeat Dad pulled me outta here back in December. Maybe because there is rent to pay and all the fucking textbooks for next quarter to buy. Maybe because I won't be able to work on the Monday of exam week because instead I'll be winging an on the spot essay about the merits of the Modernist Art Movement. Maybe I fucking need the job."

"Okay, okay Sammy," Dean made a placating gesture with his palm. There was no way Nick would fire Sam or replace him for asking for study leave, but he knew not to push it. "Ignore it. It was only an idea."

Sam gave a short nod but he was hyped up. Dean prudently decided that his little brother needed some alone time to get his mind in gear before his next class.

"I'm going over to Cas's place." Dean grabbed his denim jacket from the closet.

"Cool." Sam said in a calmer tone. "Hey Dean. I didn't mean to bite your head off."

"Forget about it." Dean called as he checked he had his new wallet and the key to the house across the street. He hoped Sam knew that he meant it. He didn't want his little brother adding a concern that things weren't good between them to his list of troubles.

Cas's house was empty. Dean had entered when no one was home on one previous occasion so he could welcome Cas home with a boxed pie he'd picked up at the bakery on Emerson. `

He knew Cas and Balthazar had eaten most of a tuna casserole the night before, because Cas had texted him a photo. Dean turned on the oven to warm up the leftovers. The dining room table was still coated with Cas's arcane study system. He laid cutlery and kitchen paper on two lap trays and poured long glasses of soda. Then he went to the family room and flipped through the vinyl, cassette and CD collections for something he recognized. He knew plenty of Balthazar's musical choices but he'd eat his own earlobes before sticking on Lionel Ritchie or Luther Vandross. Cas had a CD copy of music to Romeo and Juliet. Somehow Dean didn't think it was Baz Lurhmann's version. He got curious as he held the album, enough to insert the disc. Dean nodded along to some of it as it played in the background. When Castiel's bike turned into the car port, Dean was playing conductor to a track he checked was called Dance of The Knights. Caught rotten enjoying Prokofiev, Castiel wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist and kissed his cheek.

"Hello Dean," Castiel smirked as he loosened his blue tie, "To what do I owe the very great pleasure for discovering your talent for interpretive ballet."

Dean's jaw dropped, "Ballet?"

"Romeo and Juliet." Castiel tilted his head towards the stereo.

"Shit, Cas. Who knew? I thought it was a play." Dean huffed. He'd read the cliff notes in the ACIC library. The oven timer pinged. "Hey, lunch. I warmed up your leftovers."

Castiel followed Dean down to the small kitchen. When he saw the prepared trays he planted another kiss on Dean's lips.

They shared lunch on the sofa. The tuna casserole was good with a rich creamy sauce. Dean listened while Cas talked about his day.

"How is that kid? Y'know Jesse?" Dean asked with his mouth full. Luckily Cas was able to decipher his meaning.

"I suspect you were correct, Dean." Castiel put down his fork, "I alerted my colleagues, but it seems his shyness is greater in my presence, and I saw my name written in the margin of his biology textbook."

Dean tittered, "It's sweet."

"Yes. Sweet, but unnerving to think one of my class sees me in a sexual way."

"Betya there's more than one." Dean teased.

"Dean!" Castiel huffed, "Stop it."

"Mr. Sexy Teacher." Dean leaned over and tickled Castiel's rib, "I'd be drawing you all over my books."

"I'd be sending you to detention for drawing in science class." Castiel dodged Dean's tickling fingers with a grin and took their trays to the kitchen.

"Bet you looked cute in high school," Dean continued when Cas returned with coffees.

"Not particularly." Castiel said drily, "My mother knitted my school sweaters."

Dean was already snorting a laugh when Castiel added that his mother made his sleeves too long.

"All my clothes were from goodwill," Dean said in mutual sympathy, "and then Sam wore'em." Before Cas's maudlin expression could deepen, he added, "never let it stop me from catching a hot chick or dude's eye."

It worked as Cas got misty eyed, "My first kiss was a girl."

"Wowser, Cas. I thought you were strictly on team dick."

"My neighbor Rachel down by the creek on a hot May day when we peeled off our school sweaters and in over heated brain fugues ended up wrapped together under the old tire tree swing." Castiel smiled, "My parents found out, because I naively told them. I was sent to bible camp. I guess that should have been a hint for five years later when I came out to them."

"Why did you?" Dean whispered. He would never have 'come out' to his Dad and fully understood why Sam hadn't.

"I was at Cornell. It was this time of year. Your brother's stage of college and his age. 19 and spring break sophomore year." Cas leaned forward on the seat and clasped his hands together between his thighs.

"You don't have to tell me," Dean reached in and tugged on Castiel's shirt cuff so that the student released his hand into Dean's.

"I want to." Castiel gave a watery smile. "At Cornell, out and proud there. Dating Ephraim. They had been so supportive of my decision to study physics. You have no idea how wonderful their acceptance of my choice was. Mom and Pop, they believe in the Good Book, like in every word of it, but there was no issue with using my college fund and paying my dorm fees. I thought that, I don't know, that they were changing with the times, or at least accepting modernity. I took Eph back home with me for Spring Break and discovered lickity split that I had presumed too much. Ephraim was escorted off the farm by my mother holding a shotgun, while my father tried to beat the evil gay out of me with his walking stick."

"Hell, Cas," Dean slung his arm around Cas's hunched shoulder. It occurred to him that he was in the role of comforter rather than comfort-ee. It felt right to be able to offer Cas his support.

Castiel gave a bitter laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "They cut me off, didn't pay my fees. I had nowhere to live. A few of my friends let me crash on their sofas and floors. Ephraim was cool but we were no Romeo and Juliet. Balthazar called me. I hadn't spoken to him since a distant cousin's funeral two years earlier, but his mother had told him what my mother told her. He offered me a room. I went to the Dean of Students Office and threw myself on their mercy. They were fantastic. They helped me transfer to Stanford as a half-time undergraduate and aided my loan applications. All my complete units came with me."

"You are amazin'" Dean breathed.

"What Dean?" Castiel blinked.

"You didn't give up. Didn't let them beat you." Dean pecked the corner of Castiel's shock slackened lips.

"You know that spring I thought I'd lost everything." Castiel squeezed Dean's hand, "And it was no picnic, working full time and going to school. But I got my bachelors. I picked up work as a private tutor for struggling high school physics students until the start of my teaching degree. But you know what? If all that hadn't happened, I would never have learned that my parents didn't love me unconditionally, would never have found my vocation as a teacher, and never have met you."

"Hey Cas, schmoop warning," Dean winked.

Castiel chuckled, "No time for schmoop I'm afraid I have a seminar."

Dean rose.

"Stay if you wish, Dean." Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, "I will only be a couple of hours, and maybe we could watch a movie. My brain needs a study break."

Dean grumbled to himself that Sam should be as sensible. While Cas changed out of his suit, Dean put on some daytime TV and curled into the corner of the sofa.

He knew he must have slept because he could hear Judge Judy dismissing a counter claim. His mouth was dry. He had an uneasy crawling sensation under his skin, like as if he was being watched. It was a lingering dread. He'd had the seclusion room nightmare. His left arm was pinned by his body in the corner of the sofa cushions. Pins and needles ran down as he shook it out. Gritting his teeth he forced his mind away from the memory of being stood on his numb feet after God only knew how long strapped to the table. He smacked his lips together a few times and took a couple of deep breaths.

Dean noticed a long glass of juice covered with a Kleenex on the coffee table. He must have drifted into his nap before Cas left. It was freaking touching, especially when Dean spotted the small post it saying 'Drink Me'. Laughing at the Alice In Wonderland reference, he gladly gulped down a few mouthfuls. There was a missed text from Sam with a simple 'sorry' for his early freak out.

Dean figured life wasn't too bad. He wasn't looking forward to the lead up to spring break. He was not all that enthusiastic about heading into work in the morning. Risa was going to be like thunder and Saturday was busy with early morning shoppers, getting their fresh groceries before commencing their weekend plans. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the tendons with his thumb. There were a lot of things he liked about working in Greengoods but the negative side wore him down at times. Back in Arkansas, when he gave himself permission to fantasize a life outside ACIC, he was always tinkering with car engines or running a repair business, maybe living above the premises with a hot chick or guy. He never imagined he would be working with fresh produce. Victor, Garth, and Sam all were quick to point out that the Ticket To Work program was a stepping stone to full employment. The place wasn't so bad. He got paid for honest physical work that was giving him muscle definition he hadn't seen since his high school track team days. The guys were cool. He enjoyed helping Tony with late deliveries. The heavy jacket and man-gloves for the cold warehouse gave him a bulky laborer vibe that Kate and Nancy, the shy office clerk, seemed to drool over. He enjoyed the routine and peace of his early morning walk on quiet streets and his pit stop at Beans on the way home.

The crap low-lights heavily featured Zachariah's micromanagement and 'Good Boy petting. Vying for top of the chart was his name pin and how at least once a day he had to point to where it informed the reader he was mute, because some blind old bat accused him of being rude when he didn't read the Eat By date on her yogurt, or a harassed soccer mom shouted if he had heard her question about the origin of her pineapple. Thing was, if they would just leave him be or act chilled, rather than raising voices or muttering about the employment of deaf and dumb boys, then Dean might have found his voice. As the days had gone by Dean had found it easier to exchange greetings or make seldom comments which always garnered a reaction from his colleagues because of their rarity. Speaking could be a minefield on the store floor When he did, the customer might expect a full blown conversation. Although Old Mrs Lincoln, who purchased chilled fresh spray cans of cream for her Maine Coon cats, had coaxed whispered recommendations from Dean about the best value offers and the dear lady in her wool coat seemed to treat his efforts as their own special secret. She had Dean guide her around the isles carrying her basket. Last week she had tried to tip him $5. When he wouldn't accept, she sneakily gave Carsten $10 to split with Dean. He couldn't refuse when Carsten nearly bawled that he had promised the nice lady he would give it to Dean. Another day a lady had stuffed three dollar bills in his pocket when he had carried her heavy family sized groceries to her car. When Jed had called in sick, Mitchell had taken Dean with him for the delivery to the Poor Clare convent. After they had unpacked the motherload Sister Assumpta had given the hardworking men slices of warm crumble topped apple pie. It had been twenty after ten when they got back to the store but Dean would have worked an hour of overtime for the nuns' divine baking skills.

He figured on balance despite the looks, comments, exposure, and overbearing sympathy, he was getting used to Greengoods. The job was growing on him like a symbiotic fungus.

A text alert proved to be Cas checking if he was still at the house. Dean shot off a quick reply with a couple of capital Xs for good measure. He cleaned out the coffee filter and put on a new pot. Then he tidied up their lunch bits. Balthazar's house was not large. It was a Californian Bungalow with two beds, the bathroom, and family room taking up most of the square footage. A narrow passageway led to the small dining room and tiny galley kitchen. There was barely room for two guys to stand side by side in the narrow galley. If this was Dean's home he would knock the wall and have a kitchen cum diner. The front door banged and a delicious meaty aroma drifted in as Castiel appeared looking tired but bearing a swollen bag of burgers.

"I knew there was a reason I hung around," Dean muttered with a kiss to Castiel's exposed neck.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dean rose before seven. It was the Monday of Exam Week, and every one of his housemates had an 8.30am start. Dean was at work in the kitchen while the guys fought over the shower and Jessica squealed that she couldn't find her lucky fountain pen. While Sarah helped Jess find her exam talisman, Dean grated potatoes, chopped onions, halved tomatoes, and squeezed oranges. Dean had planned the breakfast, bringing home the ingredients from work on Saturday, including the overripe but extra juicy oranges on which he had got a mega discount.

Sam was the first student to appear. "I was gonna grab an apple," he gasped at the table with the full pitcher of OJ, and the plates of bacon, hash browns and fried tomatoes.

"You want eggs over easy?" Dean gestured at a chair with his spatula, "or cinnamon and vanilla French Toast with extra sugar for brain fuel?"

Sam was speechless. Brady trailed in. Sam finger jabbed at the piles of food and Dean in his cooking apron.

Soon the table was surrounded by exam takers fuelling up for the day ahead, except Andy who slouched against the wall holding his head and chewing slices of bacon wrapped in sliced bread.

Sarah raised her mug of coffee and announced, "I declare an exam amnesty. No mention of the E-word until we leave the house."

Dean grinned with his back turned, flipping Sammy's eggs.

Jessica swallowed her bite of French Toast and dapped her mouth with a napkin, "Hear, Hear. Sarah found my lucky pen, so everything she says goes."

The others laughed as Jessica brandished the writing instrument.

"Are you actually going to Mexico, Andy? Or was that wishful thinking?" Brady laughed.

Andy grunted a yes, then added, "Ansem's flying out of Denver and we are meeting there Saturday for seven nights of hedonistic bliss."

"We are all so boring, heading home," Jess sighed.

Sarah cleared her throat, "Scott's taking me back to Lake Tahoe for the weekend before I head East."

"Whoo-hooo," Brady whooped.

Sam winked at Sarah while Dean slid the eggs onto his brother's plate and sat down next to him to tuck into his own bacon. Sam grinned, "Some guys have all the luck."

"Don't you try and tell us, Sam Winchester, that devilishly handsome Nick has not got plans?" Jess wiggled her brows.

Dean thought Sam's cheeks flushed.

"Dunno," Sam shrugged, "I'm taking a couple of Brady's shifts while he is in The Windy City."

Brady snorted, "That leaves other nights for getting together."

"What's Castiel doing?" Jessica asked Dean earning her a grateful look from Sam.

"He's working more too. His cousin's taking a few days vacation, and Cas'll watch the store." Dean held a private hope that just like Sam he would be able to grab some extra time with his boyfriend.

As the students began to head out, Dean slipped upstairs. He had to take his Citalorapram and Penandrocol. He dragged the polka dot vanity case from under his bed and took out his meds. The Xanax tub rattled.

"Sonvabitch," Dean hissed. Victor had written new scripts last Thursday but with most of Friday spent napping on Cas's sofa and a forgetful head on Saturday, Dean hadn't got them filled. Sam came in as Dean was contemplating the two Xanax knocking around at the bottom of the white plastic container.

Sam checked his progress towards his book bag and jacket. "Dean?"

"Forgot my scripts." Dean huffed.

"Shit, man!" Sam ambled over and looked in on the two lonely pills "You got any of your other meds?"

Dean pulled the anti-anxiety blister out of its box and saw six remaining doses. Nodding in satisfaction he took his Penandrocol box in his hand. He grimaced and hoped he was wrong but he wasn't. He had taken his final 28th pill the previous morning.

"Its fine Dean. Don't sweat it, we can share." Sam extracted his own pack from his desk and threw it over to the dresser.

Blue Band Penandrocol had a 28 day cycle of pills - 1 dark blue, 2 pale blue, 10 white, another dark blue, 4 pale ones, and 10 white to finish. They had to be taken in order, which was inconvenient if one was forgotten, but they were the best male contraceptives on the market. Dean could see that Sam was on Day 6 of the pack.

"You take my day 14 dark blue and when you get your pack, leave your Day 1 in the blister for me. Easy peasy."

Dean barely had time to thank his brother, wish him luck, and promise to go to the pharmacy before Sam was flinging his bag over his shoulder and flying out the door to his first exam.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Heaven was rocking. Strobe lights spun across the dancers' heads. Floor lasers fanned in the scare gaps between their heaving bodies. Dean licked beads of perspiration from his upper lip. His hands ran around the damp material of Castiel's half open white dress shirt lifting upwards to feel the motion of Cas's shoulder blades. Cas raised his arms to clasp his hands behind Dean's neck and draw them impossibly closer so their breaths mingled before they kissed long and deep. As they turned, foreheads pressed together, Dean watched his partner's long dark eyelashes dip and hide his cereulean blue pupils. With a beat of the dance track, Cas's eyes opened again leaving a single lash defying gravity on the rosy heat flushed skin of his cheek. Dean held his breath as he reached up and stroked it away with a gentle tip of his finger. Castiel smiled at his touch and leaned forward whispering in Dean's ear that he would return in a moment.

Watching Castiel's finely formed ass swing to Pink's Get The Party Started, Dean ran his tongue hungrily over his lips. His eyes stung from the recycled air but he had to admit he was revelling in Cas's sudden urge to celebrate his last exam at a gay nightclub. Initially neither of them were racing to expose their limited dancing skills. After Castiel's fourth vodka and Dean's third beer, Dean couldn't be sure who had pulled who into the morass of guys moving to the thumping beat. Hands on each other's hips, Castiel's fingers pressing into Dean's body, they swayed and moved in unison rather than anything that could be said to resemble actual dance. He did recall Cas securing the future of his leather jacket and Dean's denim one by lodging them with the cloakroom attendant. Then he slipped his hands over the curves of Dean's glutes and slid the paper tickets into his ass pockets. Stripped to his V-neck black tee and unintentionally co-ordinated arm cuffs, Dean had received a wink from a baby faced crew cut blond with a sharktooth pendant dangling over a ripped wifebeater. Castiel's gasp of indignation turned out not to be jealousy but shock at the sight of one of his high school seniors. The equally taken aback boy's rapid vanishing act and Dean's restraining hand, combined with a plea to 'Leave it Cas' saved the fake ID holder from the interrogation of his teacher. Castiel looked stunning in his moral conflict making Dean want to wrap his body around him and grow octopus limbs to entangle them together.

Dean gyrated his hips in the sea of bodies, anonymous, buzzed, waiting for Cas to return. He tipped his head back half laughing at a few of the other post-exam revellers who were blowing douchey whistles to the music. He could feel the glide of the silky candy striped jock strap over his confined cock and balls. The secret surprise for his lover had him straining and leaking in anticipation.

The furnace of a body grinding into him from behind caused Dean to half-step forward into a fleeting gap. The body moved with him, hard on rubbing his hip. It was not Castiel. Dean froze, his adrenaline funnelled down the 'deer in highlights' chute rather than the 'punch and ask questions later' channel. His blood rushed with increasing velocity through his ears but the unwelcome pressure did not pass along to another dancer.

"Why Dean," a nasal crawling drawl and the heat of sickly nicotine breath on his neck, "What an unexpected pleasure to meet Sam's pretty brother here."

"Alastair", Dean sucked air around his constricting throat, suddenly sober and aware of every note of The Prodigy's Breathe as the taller man ground his hard shaft against Dean's crack. Dean kept moving but the sea of oblivious clubbers had morphed into a cage of flesh. With the edge of the dancefloor in range Dean pulled forward only to have Alastair's hands snake under his arms and hold his chest. If he could get off the floor he could break away, find room to twist expertly out of the amateur hold, and spot a mark on the dickbag's jutting chin. He kept edging onwards luring Alastair to the seated area readying his response, tensing his muscles to deal with the sonvabitch.

"Hey!" Castiel growled before them.

Dean took his chance and elbowed Alastair's ribs. He stepped to the side in time to see the blur of Castiel's closed fist flying upwards to smack into Alastair's chin and the douchebag's head snapping back, bloodied spittle spraying out.

Time stopped. Heads turned. Alastair stumbled back into the crowd. Castiel's righteous rage burned incandescent. Dean's jaw dropped in awe. Cas had smacked the creep down... for him.

Then all at once reality rushed in. There was a scream of "Fight!" Alastair staggered to recover. A security guy with an earpiece moved in from the left. Castiel gripped Dean's shoulder tight and stared into his eyes with deep concern.

"Are you alright? Dean, babe, are you OK?"

Dean nodded.

"Let's move," Cas urged and released Dean's shoulder to urge him forward through the crowd with a grasped hand. At the cloakroom Dean kept lookout for security or the creepy perv. His pulse jumped in his temple and his nerves in his knee hopped.

Outside on the sidewalk, Castiel bent double and took a couple of deep breaths. Dean took the opportunity to bring his own breathing back under control.

"You," Dean began as his rested his palm on the curve of Cas's spine, "...were magnificent."

Castiel straightened and looked sheepishly at Dean. "I... I saw him assaulting you on the floor and saw red."

Dean quirked his lips at the fire still kindled in Cas's belly. "You know I coulda taken him down?"

"Yes Dean. I know." Castiel looked marginally abashed, "I am not normally so much of a caveman."

"But thanks Cas," Dean linked their fingers together. "The assbutt had it coming."

"He did, didn't he?" Cas smirked and swung their arms as they wallked.

"He did," Dean agreed before pausing for a quick sweet touching of chapped lips, "Now take me home and ravish me, Barney Rubble."

"As you wish," Castiel replied softly.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	12. Eleven

Author's note:

Thanks again to everybody reading and hugs for those who have favorited, followed, and especially everyone who has reviewed.

Additional warning for this chapter: Instance of consensual very light bondage kink.

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam woke slowly, becoming aware of the roar of the sea. Breaking waves were an exotic sound to his ear. Whenever his small family had lived by the coast, John would deposit them in a turnpike motel, an inner city weekly rental, or a backwoods cabin miles inland. Sam remembered once, perhaps their first stint in Daytona Beach, when he had pleaded with his knees planted in the sand to live on the beach. He recalled his righteous childish logic had refuted all possible arguments by demanding they kip in tents. John had given a lecture about every dollar counting and how only lazy rich bastards had seafront properties. Sam blinked back the sting in his eyes as he recalled not only his own tears but also Dean's who got it in the neck for giving Sam ideas.

He walked his fingers across the smooth wonderfully high thread-count sheet, in a spider like motion, then used the warm skin of Nick's arm as a touchstone to the reality of the here and now.

The dawn light painted Nick's sleeping form in muted colors. Sam turned on his side, sheet winding further round his legs, propping his body with his elbow, so he could admire his lover. He reached out, hand hovering, almost touching, not wanting to wake him. His fingertips tingled with static over fine blond chest hairs. Those fingers remained marked with a week of exam-ink even after finding purchase against the tiles of Nick's wetroom. The stained digits had been kissed and sucked in this bed. Nick had, with loving concern, matched the bluish tinge with the dark circles under Sam's sleep deprived eyes. If Sam wasn't so sure of Nick's affection, he would have been stung by a comment on his flaws, but Nick's thumbs had glided feather-light along his cheekbones, and earlier had massaged his hand tendons and fingers while they lay together on the La-Z-Boy couch in front of wide sea view French windows.

Sam had celebrated the end of his exams with a beer toast at the house, while Dean was undergoing some sort of pre-date solo makeover, where Sam was banned from entering their bedroom while his brother dressed. Anyone would think he was hiding a panty-kink or something. Andy's assembled crew arrived and the family room filled with the over-sweet stink of weed. Sam didn't know if it had been passively smoked dope or a post-exam high that made him brave. He'd shot over to The Gates and dived his hand down the front of Lucifer's trousers, while an observant Ruby almost required the Heimlich maneuver from a shock diverted slurp of wine.

Of the ride to Moss Beach, Sam remembered only angling in his seat with Nick's expert hand on his exposed swollen cock, his impatient groans when Nick needed both hands to change gear or make a turn, taking the steps up to Nick's door without breaking apart, his efforts to lose Nick's suit jacket into the onshore breeze while the older man fumbled for the lock, and then the deep pile carpet where Nick sank down onto his knees and took Sam's length, enveloped in heat, the flick of Nick's tongue, the suction, the abandon of losing himself, tightening his fingers into Nick's hair, coming long hard and gasping, opening his eyes to see Nick swallowing him down, come escaping over his jaw, and finally being pulled down by his hips for the filthiest sexiest kiss of his life.

Now, with the racing river of lust stilled to placid waters, and the vice-like pressure of his grades in the hands of the Gods (or whoever was evaluating his papers), Sam could allow relaxation and appreciation of the little things he loved about his boyfriend. The luxury of possessing an unreturned gaze, the privacy of solitary adoration, and the tranquility of the new day, led Sam to reflect on how a relationship was a precious thing and how he burned deep inside with a nascent love for this man. Puffs of sleeping exhalations drew Sam's eye to Nick's bottom lip that turned out when he was unhappy and his thinner upper lip that Sam enjoyed nibbling on. Sam loved how Nick's nose wrinkled and his pale brows rose when he was displeased. In slumber the fine lines on his forehead smoothed out, all the old worries and life experiences blended back. Missing too were the tiny crinkles that forked the corner of his smiling eyes making Sam's dimples deepen to joyful pits. Other features were hidden by sleep as well, like Nick's wide sea-blue eyes and his softly spoken yet intense voice. Sam trailed his eyes down along Nick's chest to where he had sucked a delicious deep purpling red hickey and lower to the adorable muffin paunch and the soft cock nestled in a blond thatch of curly hair.

Slipping out from between the sheets, Sam padded barefoot to the wide glass and stood motionless watching the breaking waves roll in. There was something primal and wild about the ocean. The sea had power that inspired ancient deities and great works of art like Moby Dick and Hokusai's The Wave. One could be tossed and dragged under to unfathomable depths, or ride the crests glorious and surfing invincible.

The light touch of Nick's hand on his arm had Sam turning round. Nick draped a fluffy hotel-style guest-robe over Sam's shoulders.

"Aren't you cold, darling?" He murmured into the nape of Sam's neck.

Sam leaned back as arms wrapped around him, warm and held close. He lifted his hands to span Nick's encompassing arms.

"I wish I could sleep for a week." Sam spoke hoarsely into the middle distance, eyes focused on their window reflections.

Nick kissed his neck and his shoulder, "That can be arranged. Although we might have to check in at the restaurant a few times."

"I couldn't leave Dean," Sam sighed softly.

Nick hummed in what seemed like a half-hearted disagreement. Sam knew Dean did not need to be babysat. Hell, his brother would be indignant at the mere suggestion.

"How about Wednesday?" Nick breathed.

"My results are Wednesday," Sam trembled and let out a long calming exhale.

"I know," Nick tightened his hug. "I was thinking, you come early, we can run the beach, flip burgers on the terrace. I'll make my famous Tabasco potato salad, and we could watch the sunset over the bay."

"Just you and me?" Sam whispered, hoping he would be coming to celebrate his grades, not seeking commiseration.

Nick hummed, "You and me."

"Sounds awesome," Sam turned around to share a deep kiss.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Should I bring something?" Sam asked Dean at the last moment before they ventured across the street to take Balthazar up on his offer of a joint family meal. "We could ride over to the liquor store and you could go in and buy a six pack?"

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. A spike of guilt about forgetting a gift for their host, was preferable to the chant of 'results tomorrow' that was burrowing mole-like through his brain screaming for attention.

Dean gave him the exasperated eye and tapped his watch face.

"I know, I know. Should've thought of it earlier."

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda." Dean mocked with a lopsided grin before disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a six pack of Prohibition Ale. Sam had never tried the Californian micro brew. He wondered if Cas had suggested it, or maybe one of Dean's workmates. He was about to ask but Dean was already out the door.

"Hurry up, Sammy."

Sam grinned at his brother's cheeky expression. In less than three months he had seen Dean come out of his protective shell. Sometimes Dean's fighting spirit staggered Sam. It wasn't all roses and kittens. There were nights when Dean woke screaming, and others when he trashed unconscious in the bed fighting off nightmare assailants. But some nights, Dean slept at Castiel's… with Castiel, Sam mentally corrected. Sam held close his own anticipation of the promise of spending the following night at Nick's place.

"Come on, slow coach!" Dean called from the sidewalk. Sam was thrilled to have to catch up with his brother. He matched Dean's close to normal walking pace as they crossed and proceeded to their neighbors' door.

"No embarrassing stories," Dean hissed while they waited.

"I wouldn't." Sam protested, but the admonishment made him rack his brains for a suitable childhood story. His brain-search was derailed by their overwhelming greeting by the caftan and sarong wearing new-age store owner.

Balthazar enthused over Sam, quickly ascertained he was a Taurus, and complimented him on his supposed strong will and warmhearted nature. Excusing himself to stir their Beary Biryani, he left Castiel to take their jackets and show them down a narrow hall to a cozy dining room at the rear of the house. The windows were steamed up from the cooking and a mouthwatering aroma of spices pervaded the room.

Sam stared at three increasingly large pyramid rainbow candles in the centre of the 4-seater dining table. There was barely room for the place settings. He screwed up his nose trying to figure out if Balthazar was making a political statement in support of gay rights.

"Chakra candles," Castiel intoned in answer to the unspoken question. He tugged awkwardly on the cuff of his long sleeved blue tee, "We sell them in the store."

"Excuse you, Cassie," Balthazar appeared from the tiny kitchen bearing two plates of aromatic chicken curry with sticky flavored rice. "Those are handcrafted beeswax beacons, colored with organic dyes."

Sam thanked their host as he placed the two plates in front of his guests. Balthazar was back with his own and Castiel's meals within moments. He gestured to the stack of buttery naan breads and gilded dishes of mango chutney and riata.

"Please, dig in." Balthazar grinned and raised his fork.

Sam noticed Castiel waited to eat until Dean had taken a mouthful and his brother's eyes had done their half closed warning of impending gluttony. The curry was tasty. It was hotter with spice than Sam would normally take it, but he followed Balthazar's lead by cooling his taste buds with the dips and heat quenching pilsner. Even Dean had to slow down after a while and move to ripping pieces of naan to share with Castiel.

"How did you become an astrologer?" Sam asked.

Balthazar leaned back into his chair, "It's a long story beginning with a bohemian college life in London, a hippy-chick with long tresses and flowery skirts, a time of seeking enlightenment with a group of like minded people here in California…"

"A commune." Castiel muttered to Dean.

Balthazar cast his cousin a stink eye, "A community living on the land and raising their consciousness. Some years ago we went our separate ways but I and three of the girls came here to Palo Alto. I opened a small office on Waverly. Bonny read cards. Jolie made dreamcatchers, and Leonore started a little shop in my reception area."

Sam picked up on the wistful tone, "Where are they now?"

"Oh, still around," Balthazar's eyebrows popped up and down suggestively, making Sam wonder if Balthazar's old friends were friends with benefits.

"From what Castiel said about his family they seem very traditional. Are yours too?" Sam asked. Dean glared at him as if he had overstepped, but Sam mouthed 'what Dean?' back at him.

Balthazar did not take offence. "Darlings," He smiled, "I am the wayward lamb who journeyed down the daisy path away from the ovine fold."

"He means that my Aunt and Uncle, while not as close-minded as my own parents, are of a different generation," Castiel interpreted.

"I don't think Mum and Dad would know a Hopi Ear Candle or a Neti Pot if one hit them on the head." Balthazar laughed.

Sam knew about the ear candles. Sarah and Jess and a lingering stink of burning hair had taught him last year. He hadn't a clue what a Neti Pot was, but he didn't let on.

"Thanks to Balthazar, I, on the other hand, know all about dowsing rods, sage smudging, and soapstone spirit animals," Castiel commented dryly.

"Hey Cassie, don't disrespect the products," Balthazar clicked his tongue, "I source the best."

"I know you do," Castiel said in a tone of compromise, while cocking an eye at Dean, who almost spluttered his beer holding in a laugh.

"You know the Malayan Salt Crystal Lamps are being delivered, and the room is reserved for Jorge, the rune caster, on Friday." Balthazar checked with an added apology to Sam and Dean for talking business.

"I know," Castiel eye-rolled and recited, "Move the yoga mats and Nepalese rugs to make room for the lamps, make a display poster for the new Brazilian incense, Jorge on Friday and Madam Magda on Saturday, but you will be back Sunday."

"Thanks Cassie," the store owner grinned, "Now who wants burfi. Sweet Indian fudge balls, and coffees?"

"No pie?" Dean hissed to Castiel.

Sam snorted at his brother's one track mind.

"I've spoiled you," Castiel teased. "Try the burfi. They are homemade."

Sam watched Dean relax into his seat. He hadn't contributed much to the dinner conversation but Sam thought that could have been due to a healthy consumption of the offerings rather than anxieties.

They took the coffee and candies to the larger more comfortable den with its squishy sofa and armchairs. The fudge was deathly sweet. Sam didn't take a second one, but Dean and Balthazar cleared the dish between them. Sam pondered where Dean put all that food. Then his brother's stomach rumbled and Dean ended up blushing as Cas rubbed his belly for him.

"I hope that asshat isn't causing hassle for you Sam?" Castiel asked when he was satisfied that Dean was cozily curled next to him on the sofa.

"Who? Alastair?" Sam asked.

"Fucking creep." Dean growled.

"The two of you look like you are ready to lay him out again," Sam chuckled at their stormy faces.

"I'll take him down if he touches you Sammy," Dean vowed with such intensity that Sam was taken aback by how scary Dean could be.

"It's cool, Dean," Sam promised. "Al's getting plenty of looks due to his split lip, and that I know how he came by it is very satisfying. I told Nick. 'Cause it happened outside work, in Al's private time, he can't sanction him, but if Dean or I have any sign of trouble at The Gates, then he says there will be 'consequences' in a voice of doom."

"Damn right," Dean muttered.

"What sun sign is your man, Sam?" Balthazar asked.

"Nick?" Sam curled out his lip, "I have no clue. His birthday is 16th November."

Balthazar gave an assessing hum, "You know if you and Dean tell me your times and places of birth I could cast your charts."

"We were born in Lawrence, but time of birth? No idea." Sam shrugged.

"That is a shame. For a precise reading you need the time." Balthazar tutted, "Many people have an estimation, which can be helpful."

"Sammy was born before 9 in the morning," Dean offered.

Sam blinked, "I was?"

"I know 'cos Pawpaw got the call while I was having breakfast with Grandpa." Dean said as if this wasn't news to Sam.

"Pawpaw? Grandpa?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Sam," Dean huffed wearily, as if Sam should know this, "Our grandfathers." His brow furrowed as Sam continued to draw a blank. "We are named after them, Mom's dads, Dean and Sam."

"What the fuck?" Sam gasped, "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to cuss. What? Our what Dean?"

"Mom's dads." Dean repeated. "I know I must have… didn't I talk about them at all? And Dad… Dad wouldn't have, would he?"

"Your family sounds as estranged as ours." Balthazar commented. "Let me get some beers. Come on Cassie. Help me out."

"Dean?" Sam pleaded, "Are they? Did they die, like Mom?"

"I don't know Sam." Dean patted the seat cushion that Castiel had vacated.

Sam didn't take it, knowing Dean's boyfriend would return momentarily, but he perched on the arm of the sofa. "Were they nice?"

Dean half laughed, "I don't remember much. I was a kid, y'know. Grandpa Sam kinda scared me sometimes. He and Dad used to shout at each other. I think Pawpaw was awesome. I get this warm tomato soup feeling when I think of him. They adored Mom, always coming over to see her. I guess they might still be in Lawrence."

"Dad never…." Sam shook his head.

"I know," Dean said with regret, "I've been thinking, 'cause Victor told me they tried to help us, after the y'know, the fire."

Sam could see Dean shudder when he mentioned their mother's death. He patted Dean's arm, getting his big brother to look at him so they could share a sad smile.

"So, maybe," Dean continued, "Maybe if they are in Lawrence. They might like to see us? So I was thinkin' like, if we are going to see Bobby this summer, we could head there too."

"Back to Lawrence?" Sam muttered.

"Yeah," Dean said tentatively, as if waiting for Sam's approval.

"OK Dean." Sam nodded, "We can road trip that way."

Balthazar and Cas appeared bearing cold ones. Castiel retook his seat and entwined his fingers into Dean's.

"So," Dean cleared his throat, "Grades out tomorrow? I know Sam and Cas will do great."

That was the subject of lost family closed, Sam guessed. His chest fluttered but he suppressed his threatened panic over his grades. He'd worked like a Trojan to catch up on his missed classes and his freaking biology unit. The morning would tell if he had done enough. Dean was so sure that they'd both succeed. Sam hoped and prayed that his brother's confidence was not misplaced.

"I detest the night before. I always dream they've lost my papers, or I can't find my way to campus, or I turn up naked amid all my classmates," Castiel huffed.

Balthazar's shout of "TMI" and Dean's encouraging comment that he'd love if Cas turned up naked, had Sam breaking into a fit of contagious laughter.

They clinked bottles as they recovered their wits, exam result tension dissipated. Their conversation moved on to a new web resource for science students that Castiel's teaching degree class were using. Sam enjoyed what Dean might have teasingly called a 'geek out bonding session' with Castiel, over the journal articles available online. He scribbled down the site address for help with future classes. Turned out too that Cas was on the Classmates networking website, using it to keep in touch with old friends back east. When Dean pulled Cas into a more intimate whispered talk, Sam filled Balthazar in on a definition of the broad subject of Anthropology. He was slightly discombobulated, but covered well, when he thought he overheard mentions of candy stripes, jock-straps, and snowballing from the pair on the sofa.

"Cassie," Balthazar called over his shoulder as took the empties away, "Hester's been in touch. She'll be in San Fran next month for a logistics conference."

Sam could see Castiel stiffen in his seat and Dean's brow furrow at his reaction.

"Does she… does she want to stay here?" Castiel's middle finger hit out a beat on the edge of the coffee table.

"Good God, Hester here? Has the sky fallen?" Balthazar snorted.

"She is your sister." Castiel said quietly, "I could take the sofa and she could have my bed."

Balthazar pursed his lips and glanced at Sam and Dean, "Hester has her good points. She is one of the few of my siblings who keep in touch with little old me, the black sheep of the family… well I was until Cassie became the even blacker sheep."

"Thank you." Castiel commented dryly before taking a swig of his beer.

"She won't want to stay here. Northrop Grumman will put her up in The Four Seasons. But she will invite us for lunch in her suite or such." Balthazar waved a hand.

Castiel sighed, "I doubt I will go. Dean and I are busy that day."

Dean's eyes widened and Balthazar laughed, "I didn't tell you when she is coming."

"Still busy." Castiel insisted.

"You are such an anti-social bitch." Balthazar grumbled but there was little heat fueling his insult.

Dean bristled and straightened his back, but Castiel who was inured to his cousin's idiosyncrasies, just shrugged and added, "You seem to be suggesting that meeting up with Hester would be fun."

"Cas's social," Dean's brows drew together as he glared, "We are going to Pizza Cave tomorrow. That's not anti-social."

Balthazar guffawed, "Not with you." He cocked his head towards Sam, "Aren't they bloody adorable?"

Sam nodded caught between his agreement with Balthazar and the danger of voicing that opinion which might lead to a revenge wedgy from his brother. He preferred the part of interested observer, but was drawn in to the conversation by their host saying "I suspect Hester will be 'networking' with your boyfriend's people, Sam."

"Excuse me?" Sam frowned at the older man.

"He is one of those Alighieris? You know, Alighieri Defense Logistics? Mike Alighieri – Dashing CEO? Ding dong? Not ringing any bells?"

"I don't know." Sam confessed, blinking back his perplexion. He'd never connected Nick with the arms manufacturer. He knew Nick had inherited or had come from money, but he hadn't thought too much about its origin, happy that Nick would fill him in on his past as they shared their histories.

"Remember when we lived in Columbia?" Dean asked with his mouth full of the last piece of fudge.

Castiel suddenly looked fascinated.

"In Maryland," Sam dashed the science teacher's hopes for an exotic story.

Dean grunted his approval of Sam's elaboration, "Remember the little league team, all the local teams had purple kits with ADL logos."

"I was six Dean." Sam eye rolled, "I was more worried about getting to stay for the pre-Thanksgiving party at school."

Dean sighed.

"And did you?" Balthazar asked, "Get to go to the party?"

"I don't think so," Sam muttered.

Dean patted his hand and gave Sam a wistful look, "We moved to Wisconsin."

"Didn't matter," Sam plastered a smile on his face and ran his hand through his hair. He'd had enough reminiscing for the night. Luckily Balthazar began a tale about a yoga instructor from Wisconsin who could maintain the bendiest of poses. Castiel deftly professed a sudden interest in a TV Miniseries about to begin. They moved the armchairs and gathered around the TV. The historical drama was riveting enough to keep Sam's attention, but Cas and Dean vanished to 'clean up the kitchen' and reappeared with suspiciously disheveled clothing. Sam didn't comment but filed away a smart remark about kitchen duties for later use.

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++

On Wednesday evening Sam was on a rolling high. The sun had shone for them. His elevated mood comprised of; exercise endorphins after his run with Nick, the lingering savored taste Nick's simple home cooking, and his grade average. He had done it, even with the evil B minus for Human Biology. Sam's grade average was 3.76 for the quarter. Combined with his 3.85 for the previous semester, he had a modicum of breathing space heading into his spring classes. Sam had met a relieved Castiel on the stoop as he arrived to share the good news of his own grades with Dean.

"Ready?" Nick called from inside the family room.

Sam drew reluctantly away from the pink tinged sky and the view over the pale Moss Beach sands. He entered the double doors to the gold and cream hued room. Nick was to the right behind the micro-bar. Tucked into the corner of the spacious room was a curved polished wood bar with two matching high stools. In the triangle of space behind there were a few shelves of high end liquors, space for a variety of glasses and bar utensils, and a clear fronted interior-lit mini-fridge of the same brand that The Gates had under its bar. Sam bypassed the La–Z–Boy and the boxy Perspex side tables with their old magazines. Sinatra played low, singing of witchcraft. Sam paused and ran his hand through his shower dampened hair.

Nick tipped his open cocktail shaker towards Sam so he could see the crushed ice inside. "Beginnings of the perfect Martini. Let class commence."

Sam snuffled a laugh but came close enough for Nick to draw him into the tiny space. They both wore short sleeved tees. Sam's was a navy V-neck over his old jeans. Nick was in a white tee with his restaurant's red embossed name over his left pectoral and grey cotton lounge pants. The intimate rubbing of Nick's naked arm against his bare skinned one set quivering heat to warm Sam's core. He tried to concentrate on the self titled (to Sam's snorting derisive laughter and Nick's fake hurt-downturned-lip) … Bar-Maestro.

Sam's lips twitched. "Lots of ice. Check."

Nick took two stemmed Martini glasses from the refrigerator. He placed a small white saucer with pimento filled green olives on the bar with a bottle of Tanqueray Gin.

"I thought James Bond drank… " Sam tried his best Sean Connery impersonation, "Vodka Martini, shaken not stirred."

Nick made a tutting noise, "Martini means gin. I'm a purist. No vodka, no fruity syrups, no pearl onions, no absinthe, no olive juice – they're all other cocktails."

"Olive juice?" Sam imagined teams of Oompa Loompas squeezing olives on tiny juicers.

"A Dirty Martini," Nick informed, "A dash of green olive juice."

"Oh," Sam nodded, as Nick planted a bottle of cold vermouth next to his other ingredients.

"A cap of Nolly Prat each," Nick slotted behind him, curving his arm around Sam's waist as if he belonged there, "You do it."

Sam leaned into the touch and indulged his teacher in the fine art of the cocktail. He tipped a capful into each of the elegant glasses.

"Into the shaker," Nick chuckled, "But you know, many expert mixologists swear by swilling a measure of vermouth into the empty glasses first. It coats the glass with a film that gives a drier final taste. You must be a natural."

Sam shrugged, "Beginners' luck," But he was pleased with the praise and enjoying his private lesson.

"Add the gin, Swirl, easy Sam." Nick's fingers on his wrist slowed Sam's enthusiastic motion, "Cherish it. It is a fine mix. Treat it well. We don't want any bruising of the gin."

Sam licked his lips. If Nick wanted to suck a gin tasted bruise into his shoulder, he'd be amenable.

Nick's hand brushed against his. "Keep swirling."

Sam must have moved from swirling to vortex production again, because a soft touch from the barkeep's thumb halted his motion.

"Cherish it, my love, treat it with respect, caress it."

Sam laughed, "You'll suggest making love next."

"You must be psychic," Nick winked, "That's for later."

Sam's dick was on board with the suggestive instructions and the promise of later. He focused on gentle swirls, on the chilled icy shaker, but his hind-brain wanted to pin down Nick's plans and Nick's body.

With infinite patience Nick precisely threaded three olives each onto specially made tiny sticks that looked like silver pitchforks.

"You should use them in the bar." Sam raised his brows as he examined the miniscule prongs.

"Plastic ones in the bar, Sam, those are silver." Nick came around to stand side by side again.

Sam squinted at the tiny hallmarks on the olive holders. It was true.

"Now a final flourishing swirl."

Sam obeyed, while Nick produced a small metal strainer that capped the top of his cocktail shaker.

"Into the glasses, Sam. They are chilled. Never put rocks into a Martini." Nick's voice curled through Sam. He tipped the shaker towards the waiting receptacles. "The liquor is cold. The glass is cold. No need for ice."

The clear liquid seemed to shine as Sam strained it, as evenly distributed as he could get.

Nick plopped the olives in, so they rested at a jaunty angle.

Sam knew it was cheesy, but he wanted to try it. He cupped Nick's cheek, stilling him and kissed his lips lightly. Then he gave Nick his Martini and took his own, twisting his arm through the angle of Nick's elbow. Nick beamed, picking up on what Sam wanted. They took the first heady sip from the other's glass. The olives didn't get with the program and attempted escape, but when the two men's eyes met in joyous admiration it was worth it.

They took the Martinis to the La-Z-Boy. Nick clicked out the recliners and they lounged warm and full bellied watching the fiery sunset slash vermilion, rose and amber across the sea and sky.

Twirling his now bereft olive stick in his fingers, Sam considered that Martini was an acquired taste, but one he might grow to like.

"Hey Nick?" He muttered.

"Yes Sam," Nick turned his head to show his relaxed smile.

"Last night at Dean's boyfriend's place, Cas's cousin asked me if you were one of the ADL Alighieri family?" Sam spoke lightly, directing his gaze into space. He didn't believe in pressuring Nick to divulge family secrets or any past wrongs he would rather forget. Even more he didn't want to seem to be looking for a bank balance statement.

"What did you say to them?" Nick asked with a curious lilt to his voice.

Sam gave a brief chuckle, "The truth. I said I didn't know."

"You haven't done an internet search on me?" Nick smirked.

"No, should I?" Sam retorted playfully, "Are you one of the FBI's most wanted? Or a porn star in your spare time?"

Nick guffawed, set his Martini glass on the Perspex table, and swung his leg over Sam's so he was spanning his lap.

Sam let out an "Oof."

"Sorry," Nick said with a sheepish smile and adjusted his weight for the comfort of Sam's thighs. He tipped Sam's lips with his finger and met his eyes with an earnest gaze. "You know, my love, that you can ask me anything?"

Sam nodded, surprised at the intensity of Nick's tone.

"I want to tell you everything. I will never hide anything from you. I want you to know everything and I want to know all of you."

Sam grinned, breaking the passionate deep moment, "That sounds sexy."

Nick back slapped his abs playfully. "I mean it Sam. We are only at the beginning, I hope."

And there was something fragile about those last two words that had Sam reaching up to cup his palm around Nick's neck. The other man tilted his head, leaning in and resting his ear on Sam's bracing finger.

"I hope so too," Sam replied softly.

Nick's eyes glassed over and he blinked back a tear. Sam gasped, almost unable to believe that he was the one having such an emotional effect. Nick bent forward. Sam tilted his head to meet the tender kiss. It was soft and with only a light caressing of tongues, but Sam did succeed in finishing with the lightest of nibbles to Nick's top lip, dragging his teeth lightly as they parted.

Nick's smile was sunlit, as if the star that had sunk below the horizon, was now shining just for Sam. It made his breath catch as Nick swung his leg around and eased into a standing pose. He extended his hand and helped Sam to his feet. They didn't speak as Nick led him to an antique roll top bureau near the interior door. Sam watched as the older man slid back the smoothly joined rosewood. He extracted two matching framed 7" by 5" photographs. They stood upright, to be seen when the bureau opened, but hidden from sight unless Nick made the effort to view them. In the first picture Nick's hair was a little longer, a tad shaggy, his sideburns were heading for mutton chop territory, and his smile beamed. He was behind a bar, with streamers in his hair and his arm slung over a handsome grinning black guy in a baseball cap. In the second, monochrome photograph, Nick was a boy. Soft bangs fell into eyes that squinted in the summer sun. He carried a plastic spade and his toes were dug into the sand. Just behind there was a deckchair with a tanned balding man in a pair of swimming trunks, who had his head turned slightly away from the camera.

"My Pops and Jake." Nick said slowly.

Sam looked up from the two past Nicks, moments frozen forever in time. He narrowed his eyes in question, encouraging his partner to continue.

"Jake Talley was the one," Nick paused to wet his lips, "My old flame." He emphasized the world 'old'.

Sam nodded.

"We met in Wilmington. Jake was army. He was home from a deployment in Panama. We met through a mutual friend, and stayed in touch. When Jake came home permanently, we got together." Nick made small smile that barely parted his lips, "Came out west to find a new life. Lived in The Castro, but gradually drifted apart. Only he drifted and I thought we were anchored. I wanted to put down roots, find my dream bar or restaurant, buy a property, and he already had one foot mentally out the door of our relationship."

Sam placed the photographs carefully on the green leather writing inlay of the bureau. He wrapped his arms around Nick's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, "You don't have to… I didn't want to bring up bad memories for you."

Nick spanned Sam's back with his hand, "I'm not sad. I couldn't be sad with you here, in my arms."

"Where is Jake now?" Sam breathed.

"We didn't stay in touch, but I ran into him last year at a restaurant in Chinatown. He had a man with him. I didn't ask. He didn't offer. He's living in Concord and had come into the city for a meeting." Nick leaned around Sam and picked up the childhood picture. "That is my Pops. It's Nantucket, 1974. Mike took the shot. I have a few other photos of our father, but they are all professional. It was our last hurrah. A vacation, unheard of when you are a workaholic CEO. That Fall I followed in Mike's footsteps and started at St Patrick's Military Academy for boys. Sam?"

Sam nodded. He was doing the math. Nick was eight in the picture.

"I never will send a child to boarding school." Nick pinned him with his eyes.

"OK." Sam answered, "That's fine by me. No boarding schools." He breathed in and out. Someone had sent that little sandcastle building boy to a boarding school. "You were eight."

The year Sam was eight, John had been particularly peripatetic, unable to hold down a job, and drinking like a surly fish, but Sam had a home. He had Dean to cut the crusts off his sandwiches, to warm cans of spaghettios on two ring burners, to help him with his spellings, and to wipe away his tears as they moved again. He tightened his hold around Nick's hips and repeated, "Oh, my darlin', you were eight."

"Shush, Sam, don't be upset now for the strange little boy I was. I survived it all. That school and the next Military Academy in Virginia, near ADL's headquarters, but too far to be a day-pupil, Pops said. I graduated with far less honors than my older brother. Always playing catch up with the apple of Pops' eye, until I decided I wasn't playing. That I wasn't the expected West Point Cadet material. That if it was an option I'd have tried for botany at a liberal college, but instead at eighteen I was 'travel to find myself' material and at twenty-one was cocktail bartender material."

"Was your father pissed?" Sam asked easing his hold to stand pressed side to side.

Nick eye rolled. "I was the family disgrace. The louche. The cad. Sowing wild oats until I would mature and follow Mike into the family business. But I wasn't and I wouldn't. Then Pops died."

"Oh, God. Nick I'm sorry." Sam gasped.

"Mike expected me to fall in line." Nick huffed. "Daddy's good little solider wanted me to bend to his command. Not happening. There was nothing Mike could do about the will, but Pops had been 'concerned about my lifestyle'. My inheritance is held in trust, released to me as an annuity calculated as 75% of the national average wage for the previous year."

"What?" Sam wrinkled his nose at the complicated terms.

Nick held up a finger, "Wait... enough funds to keep me off the breadline but to ensure I had to work if I wanted to improve my lifestyle. Ultimately designed to send me crawling back to Mike on bended knee to beg for a position at the firm, which would release the capital of my inheritance into my control, as long as I remained at the company."

"That couldn't be legal." Sam scratched his scalp.

"Those were Pops' terms for his wild son. However there was a loophole. If I came to the trustees with a sound financial business plan they were obliged to dip into the principal." Nick grinned.

"The Gates of Hell." Sam laughed.

"Yep. Mikey nearly shitted himself. He was outvoted by Pops' vice-presidents; Joshua, Raphael and Cain." Nick shook his head at the memory, but he was grinning, "They released more than enough. I own The Gates outright. No loans, and when I began to turn a profit, I was able to buy this house. My bolt hole, my haven by the sea."

"A happy ending." Sam sighed, "I like those stories."

"Not ending. Beginning," Nick added with a sweet kiss to Sam's lips.

"With me?" Sam murmured.

"Huh-hum," Nick muttered into Sam's skin. He wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist and tugged him from the room. They kissed on the first step of the stairway, and the fifth, and at the turn, and the top under the panes of the roof-window.

In the bedroom, Nick flicked only the switch for the low lights; the lamps by the bed, over the dresser and spilling out through the open door of the wet-room. They stumbled on the white shag of the mat, kicking off shoes and aiming to be first to expose their skin to the other, and yet somehow fingertips brushed and arms rubbed. Sam sucked in his glee at the sight of Nick as hard and straining as he was. He slid across the sheets, trying his best to pose seductively with lidded eyes, but part of him wondering if he was imitating a goofball.

He watched, desire coiling inside him, sending sparks of want to his brain and his small brain, as Nick retrieved the purple bottle of Astroglide and tore open the foil wrapped condom. Sam's tongue hovered over his bottom lip as Nick rolled the latex over his head and down his length. He salivated at a micro-fantasy of replacing the condom with his mouth, taking Nick's shaft between his lips and working his way down.

Sam gasped when Nick's hand reached his chest and pinched over his nub. Nick climbed between Sam's legs, into the space that Sam opened for him, then arched above, dipping to kiss his forehead. Their palms met. Nick maneuvered Sam's wrists, crossing his arms over his head near the leather back panel.

"Stay like that for me," Nick whispered into the air by Sam's ear.

Sam tried his best, but he hissed and panted as Nick sucked and laved his right nipple. "Fuck, Nick, Yeah."

"So responsive".

At the praise Sam's hands jerked and moved, wrists parting.

Nick tutted with a teasing smirk, "We'll have to do something about that."

He leaned to the bedside nightstand and pulled a long boot lace from the mini-shelf. Sam moaned at the lack of contact, but then the lace was lightly wrapped round his wrists. Nick twisted it, but not too tight, just enough to remind Sam to hold his arms there.

"Why?" Sam panted, unsure if he was asking about trust, or desire, or maybe pleading to touch in response.

"I want to worship you," Nick muttered as he bent to lick a circle on the areola of the neglected left nipple.

Sam breathed in, blissed out, at the adoration. Nick worked his way down to Sam's hip bones and a slicked up finger slid under his sack, pressing the intention on his perineum.

Sam lost it then. He panted and raised his hips. He moaned Nick's name. As two lubed digits sought to go deeper into his being he cried his "Yes."

Nick took his time opening him so slowly it was tortuous in a way that made Sam rock hard and pleading, then the smirking tease pulled away completely.

Sam moaned the loss, eyes seeking his partner, briefly wondering if something could possibly have gone wrong.

Nick had paused to gaze at Sam's sweat slicked skin, loomed over to capture his lips in a consuming kiss. Then something small and buzzing vibrated against the underside vein of Sam's cock. Where had that come from? Had Sam lost time? He mumbled some incomprehensible phrases about wanting to return such pleasure.

Nick understood him and laughed that he would have his turn, but not yet. The warm wet heat of Nick's lips taking in the head of Sam's cock and laving over his slit was too much. Sam gasped that he'd come but Nick wound his fingers around the base and squeezed tight. Sam gave a high pitched moan as his hips levitated off the mattress in invitation.

"That's right, love, my sweetheart. Can you hold on? Come on my cock? Do you want to?" Nick asked in a voice heavy with lust, transmitting his wish for Sam to accept.

The fingers were back, stretching him but not giving him enough.

"Oh God yes." Sam arched again, sliding his body to the edge of the mattress, trying to urge his desire to peak.

"My pleasure," Nick gasped with grateful desire. He took his time sucking dark purpling marks on Sam's inner thighs before pushing his leg back by the foot. Sam obliged bending his knees and tilting his body. He could have slipped out of the thin tie around his wrists and gripped his fingers tight into Nick's back, pulled him closer, made sure he got buried deep. The thought of that had him leaking and almost weeping with need as Nick finally pressed home, catching Sam's rim before pushing on. It hurt, burning and stealing Sam's breath until he puffed and hissed. His eyes watered but he kept his gaze on Nick's impassioned face and he took in the gasps of his own name.

"Sam. Oh God. Sam. So tight." Nick's eyes were closed in ardor. His head thrown back as he panted. His lids lifted. Smiling intense eyes met Sam's own dilated pupils. Sam thought with a strange lustful pride 'I did that'.

The pain was lessening. He was filled. He began to roll his hips signaling his lover to move. Nick didn't hold back he thrust forward with rhythmic soft moans. Pressing into Sam to the limit and eliciting a hissed orgasmic "Nick."

"Sam," was returned as a pant of pure desire.

A moment of detestable emptiness and then Nick was pounding him backwards along the soft sheets. Sam slipped his restraint, his hands found Nick's and their rigid fingers intertwined. Sam wrapped his legs around Nick's hips. The new angle was a revelation as Nick's cockhead brushed against his prostate. Fireworks in white, pink and blood vessel red lit up Sam's closed eyelids. He was so close, so close.

"Again," he screamed, "There."

Nick did his best to oblige catching the ball of stunning nerves as he rocked to a climax. He roared Sam's name as he came. Sam could feel the pulsing pressure at his release. Nick didn't pull out immediately but eased apart the fingers of Sam's left hand and his right. Those fingers found Sam's still throbbing neglected cock and applied just the right pressure to evoke a teeth gritted guttural "Jesus Christ" as he painted Nick's faintly stubbled chin and his chest with ropes of come. Nick worked his magic until the final splatters decorated Sam's own belly and he sagged back completely spent in every way. He moaned as Nick pulled his flaccid member out and bent down to dot a scattering of pecked kisses around the rim of Sam's fluttering muscle.

Then Nick was flopping down beside him, both facing the ceiling until they turned on their sides.

"That was …" Sam tried.

"Orgasmic?" Nick offered.

"Literally" Sam tittered.

"Sam?" Nick's more serious tone lit a touch-paper of terrible irrational apprehension that he was about to be rejected, sent away. He tried to remember where his clothes were. "The condom spilt."

"Oh." All Sam could think was relief that he wasn't being pushed out into the night.

"I'm clean. I was tested recently, can show you, later… much later, but I'm good. You?" Nick said tenderly, hand rubbing Sam's bicep reassuringly.

"Huh," Sam cleared his throat. "Ah… you … you were my first."

Nick used his elbow to prop his upper body. "Seriously? But you're gorgeous Sam. How?"

This time Sam's blush had an affectionate smile tagged on. "Dunno, I mean, I couldn't do anything with my Dad around, was in a dark celibate closet, not that I've, y'know 'never been kissed' but you were my first and I'm happy, Nick, I'm glad it was you."

"I'm glad I didn't know," Nick chuckled and kissed Sam's bottom lip, "The performance anxiety to make it special… yikes."

Sam reached out a hand and cupped Nick's cheek. "It was special, I promise."

"And you're on the pill, right?" Nick checked.

"Yeah," Sam replied thinking of the dark blue pill still resting in the box of Penandrocol under Dean's bed. He'd take two, the next white one and the missed one. That should work. He revised it and decided to take three pills together when he got home, just to be sure. Satisfied he had a resolution for his absent minded slip up, he snuggled down under the sheets, forehead finding Nick's shoulder. Curved in Nick's warm arms he drifted to sleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++


	13. Twelve

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dean hummed a laugh as he cracked a second egg onto the skillet.

His knuckles were bruised and small nicks marred the back of his hand. It looked like he'd been bare knuckle boxing. His scraped skin, combined with Dean's warehouse uniform, had led to a round of raucous teasing comments about the gals loving a hard man, as a puce-blushing Nancy had administered first aid. It had hurt like a bitch but he stayed silent while Nancy cleaned and wrapped it. To be fair Mitchell had been more worried that Dean had crushed his hand in the chill room door. It was nothing, ached a while and excused Dean from lifting for half of yesterday's shift, but he'd felt foolish about the lack of concentration that had resulted in his minor injury. His day had ended in Zachariah's office, painstakingly filling out forms in triplicate about his hand. As if Dean was going to sue over a booboo. The fawning insincere concern of the store manager grated worse than the metal edge of the door.

Today the sun was shining. His fingers could still move. Castiel had use of his cousin's car. They were going to Santa Cruz for the day. Dean turned up the volume on the radio and toe-tapped along to some crappy pop song. He was looking forward to hitting the road with Cas. He'd have preferred to show off his driving skills at the wheel of the Impala, but Sam was heading in the other direction to spend the afternoon with Nick, and his brother had been in such a snippy mood since classes had resumed that Dean considered discretion the better part of valor and was keeping schtum for a quiet life.

Dean had hoped that the new semester might have lessened the stress Sam had been under. There was a routine to Sam's new class schedule that impressed Dean with its orderly nature. He supposed the regularity of Sam's days didn't matter so much to his little brother. However Dean appreciated that Sam started at 8am or 9am each day and had no evening class or tutorial. Two weeks in, as far as Dean could tell things should've been peachy for Sam. He was heavy on the Anthropology classes and had come home from a very positive meeting with the Anthropology faculty advisor about declaring the subject as his major. Dean had been proud as punch when Sam and Castiel had done so well in their quarterly exams. He'd hoped those grades would have lightened Sam's load. Instead of a buoyant mood, Sam had been more exhausted than ever, falling asleep before ten with his head in his books, and sniffling as if he was coming down with a cold.

"Freaking hell, Dean, what the fuck? Why are you frying bad eggs?" Sam groused with a hand on his forehead, still dressed in his PJs.

"Come again?" Dean huffed in surprise. He bent low over the hot stove and sniffed the eggs. They were fine. He used a fork to pick at the corner of the white and blew on it before tasting the cooked egg. "They're fresh, Sammy."

Sam said nothing. Bitchface number five was out in force, complete with pursed lips and wrinkled brow. Sam broke eye contact to sink into a chair and pour a glass from the open carton of orange juice, while Dean watched with a hand on his hip.

"Who put a pea under your mattresses, Princess Samantha?" Dean teased lightly trying to get his brother to smile back.

"No way Dean, it's not funny. The whole room stinks." Sam waved a hand. "The OJ is bitter too. Is everything on the turn?"

"You're on the freaking turn." Dean blustered. He knew the juice was fresh. He'd bought the eggs yesterday. Sam had made him throw out (secretly bring to Cas's house) a perfectly good carton of strawberries on Thursday, because he said they were stinking out the refrigerator. He was sick of it. Good food was not going to waste. He knew sour and rancid from fresh. Many times he had eaten the sour or mould tinged sandwich fillings so Sam could go to school with their meager healthy supply of sliced meat or cheese.

"Dee, please," Sam sounded so pathetic that any ire Dean felt dissipated.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Dean moved the skillet off the heat and pulled out the chair next to Sam. He placed his hand on his brother's forehead, pushing back his overlong bangs. There was no fever.

"I dunno. I might be fighting off flu. I'm achy and tired. Thought it was adjusting to the new class schedule, but I collapsed on the staff sofa during my work break yesterday. Crowley had to wake me up." Sam smiled ruefully, "You should've heard him crow about sleeping moose drool."

Dean smiled obligingly in response, but he was concerned. "You want, we can both stay home? Blow off the boyfriends? Veg out on the sofa? I'll make you hot lemon and feed you peanut butter cups?"

"Naw Dean. I'm not that sick. You go to the beach. Nick and I are taking it easy. He had his monthly poker game last night. Already got a woe-is-me text about his hangover. And I won't be late. Promised Brady I'd be back to welcome home the Cardinals. "

"You sure Sammy? Cos I can stay?"

"I'm sure. You go. And don't hurry back." Sam sounded firm in his plans. "'But first you can get me some toast and two Tylenol, Jerk."

"What did your last slave die of, bitch?" Dean chuckled as he slotted in the toast.

"Happiness," Sam retorted with a snort.

While Dean consumed both eggs, Sam showered and dressed. Dean was happy to see he looked refreshed. Maybe he was fighting off a cold, with his runny nose and headache. When he was ready to go, Sam and Brady were on the sofa talking about whether Uriel Cox or any of the other Cardinals were going to be drafted by the NFL at the end of the month.

Dean narrowed his eyes taking in Sam's pale complexion. He was tempted to put Castiel off. "You sure you're good?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam replied drily. "Dean I'm fine."

"You sure you don't have a bug?" Dean tried for the umpteenth time. "I'm sick of your stinky gas, you should see a doctor."

"You know what Dean. Fuck you."

Dean staggered at the tears that emerged in Sam's eyes. He wet his lips and backtracked, "I didn't… I… I… kn-now you're sick, Sammy."

Sam winced. "Shit." He slapped his palm onto the table. "I didn't mean that. What is wrong with me?"

"Dude, you don't look so good. Your brother's right. You need an antibiotic or euthanasia or some crap," Brady tried with a laugh.

Dean nodded along with Brady's joking concern. He knew Sam didn't attack him out of spite. He was a big boy, a few Sammy jibes weren't going to shake him, especially when Sam was under the weather.

"Dudes, I'm sorry," Sam's shoulders sagged, "I'm a grumpy douche. Ignore me."

"Listen," Dean grabbed the back of the sofa and waited to speak until Sam had twisted his upper body round, "I'll have my cell on. You feel worse you text me. You rain check Nick. OK?"

"'kay," Sam huffed.

"Pinky promise?" Dean used lil'Sammy's old teasing test for his big brother, and extended a curved pinky finger.

"Dork." Sam slapped his finger away but he was grinning and that was win. "Enjoy the beach."

"You too. See you guys later," Dean took a final glance back but Sam had re-engaged in his football debate.

Dean offered divine thanks and praise for an understanding boyfriend as they drove to Santa Cruz in Balthazar's old Aspire. He wasn't exactly a chatty Cathy, but Castiel wasn't all that big on small talk and he put on a local radio station playing seventies classics. Elton John and Kiki Dee led into Rod Stewart and Blondie. By the time the DJ proved his worth by adding Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Ramones, Dean was tapping out the beat and meeting Castiel's sideways smirks.

Cas pulled into a diner's car lot and they began their day out with Sunday pancakes. Dean's second breakfast and their shared pot of coffee made him lazy but Castiel took his hand. They left the car behind and strolled down the warm sunlit streets towards the sea. It was easy living. Pace didn't matter as other people took their time too. After a while Dean popped into a pharmacy for some sunscreen, so his face didn't turn into one giant burnt freckle. They sat on a bench and Dean closed his eyes as Cas applied the sun block for him and took a little for his own nose.

At a corner store Dean found a postcard to send to Arkansas of the amusements along the beach. He huffed to himself as he considered how different his life was now. He wrote the card on his knee while Castiel flicked through old sheet music and classic LPs in a second hand bookstore. Dean picked up a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy. Cas had never read it. Dean promised that once he had revisited his teenage reading pleasure he would loan it to him.

Castiel muttered about bottomless stomachs as Dean bought two hot dogs from a vendor near the boardwalk. He ate his one in four bites, Dean noted with joy.

"Look," Dean pointed, "An early convertible T-Bird. Isn't she a beauty?"

Castiel looked more interested in Dean's awe struck expression than the fine bright blue top-down vehicle that cruised past them.

"A classic," Dean said in a sparingly worded attempt to educate Cas. "You should see under the hood, I betya she's as fine on the inside."

"I wouldn't know," Cas replied honestly, "I learned to drive on the farm tractor."

Dean snorted, "Well you have one up on me. I've never driven a farm vehicle."

"You should try a manure spreader," Castiel laughed, "I suspect you'd be able to turn your hand at fixing up any engine."

Dean shook his head slightly. It had been a long time since he did any more than improve on Sam's monitoring of Baby's oil and water. "I used to love it. Y'know, the smell of grease and engine oil?"

Castiel didn't agree but Dean could tell he was listening with his head at an avian tilt analyzing Dean's passion.

"Bobby'd let me help out. As I got older he'd give me my own junker to work on when we stayed in Sioux Falls. I used to help Dad out too, but he was inclined to faint praise and heavy critique. Bobby was a great teacher. He'd snap and grouch but wasn't afraid to pat you on the back for a job well done." Dean got lost in the past. "Sam would have his nose stuck in a book somewhere between the cars. I'd have my head in an engine. Bobby used to send Dad off to collect write offs or doer-uppers. Or Dad would have dumped us to travel with a race team…" Before Cas could feel sorry for him Dean quickly added, "That was the best. Bobby's without Dad. I gave and got my first BJ with the Sherriff's son, behind a rusty ford pick up on a hot September day."

"You must think me very sheltered…" Cas sighed, "I was so innocent when Eph said 'blow me', I honest to God In Heaven, thought he meant it as a playful insult, like bite me."

"You didn't," Dean spurted a laugh.

"Oh I caught on fairly quick that he was talking about fellatio." Castiel huffed a laugh, "He was very patient with me."

"He musta known you were worth it." Dean knocked their shoulders together, hoping his subtle praise for Castiel's patience with his quirks and silences was transmitted.

A family with kids running for the beach had them pause to give way. It wasn't that warm a day. No way would Dean have allowed little Sam strip down for fear of catching a spring chill. A prick of worry about Sam's health wormed its way into Dean's perfect day. He wondered if Sam was run down. Maybe he needed a multivitamin.

"You know Hester told Balthazar she'd seen my parents." Castiel said out of the blue.

"Wow." Dean puffed. He waited to see if Castiel wanted to say more.

"One of our mutual cousins got married… back in Illinois… Hester said they are well, but Father had another mini-stroke last year."

"Geez," Dean slung an arm around Cas's shoulders, "And no-one told you?"

"I would not have been welcome at the hospital." Cas shrugged but not so much to dislodge Dean's hold. "And he has recovered. Their stubborn persistence to deny me is unsurprising. They are old enough to be my grandparents," Cas ducked his head and moved into a quick tight hug, "Suppose that might have been part of the problem."

"Or they are homophobic asshats," Dean grumbled as they parted, "My Dad… he's a prize asshat."

Castiel's smirk took the sting out of Dean's declaration.

"And he isn't in his seventies." Castiel added.

"No." Dean sighed and shook his head. Castiel's family were sonsabitches. As they continued along the boardwalk, Dean's thoughts turned inward. He was aware of Castiel at his side and the hustle and bustle of the family attractions. The screams from the roller coaster drifted over them. When Castiel sought to understand Dean, examined him, it was like a bubble of light descended to encase them in their own world, keep them separate from all those around them. Cas seemed happy to walk along with the sea on their left, head tilting to the sun and back to Dean. They shared a companionable pause in conversation. Dean's mind drew on Castiel's comment about his parents being like grandparents. For the first time in an age, he thought of Henry Winchester, John's father, who had run out on his son when he was a boy. Dean wondered if the hatred had stemmed from that, maybe Henry had left John's mother for another man. Or maybe John's attitude was inherited from his drunken step-father, who John boasted had whupped him into shape in a manner he attempted to transfer to Dean. Or maybe it was in the Marines, where a Man was a Man, even though Dean knew that Pastor Jim was in touch with other former servicemen who had fathered Vietnamese children with both male carriers and women during the war. He knew from the alcohol fueled bile that hissed from his father's lips while Dean had tried to put him to bed, or clean up his vomit, that Pawpaw and Grandpa had thought John Winchester was not good enough for their Mary. Spilled words of how Samuel Campbell had looked down on him, had tried to prevent his marriage to their angel, had held up their perverted version of family as a paragon, and had rubbed John's nose in it every time he lost his job. His father's words filled his ears; about how being a carrier brought shame on the Winchester name, how carriers should keep their biology hidden and marry a nice girl, how just because we can walk on all fours and climb trees doesn't mean we should live like chimps…

"Hello Dean." Castiel tapped his arm, "Where have you been?"

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"Penny for them?" Castiel asked with a cute smile.

They were back at the Beach Street side of the boardwalk. "I was… remembering not so good crap."

"I'm sorry." Castiel's voice dropped. He rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, and gravely added, "I have disturbed unpleasant memories for you."

The heat of Castiel's lingering touch seemed to penetrate his denim jacket. "Don't be, Cas. I should be saying sorry… your Dad had a stroke… mine is only a bigoted mean drunk."

"Let's forget about them." Castiel smiled, "Let's make some new memories."

"Sure thing," Dean stuffed all the crap back down and pulled Castiel towards some touristy stores. They wandered among the other Sunday day trippers and visitors. Castiel threw a hideous feather boa around Dean's neck and nearly pissed himself laughing as Dean struggled to get out of it as soon as humanly possible. It was not funny, no way was it funny, but Dean found laughter bubbling out of his lips as Castiel bent double wheezing his amusement.

As revenge, and on a secret mission to spice up their nights, on the way back to the car, Dean dragged his partner into a sex store. Castiel coughed and trained his eyes on the carpet as Dean waved a set of fluffy handcuffs in his face.

"Not doin' it for you?" Dean laughed.

A smartly dressed red-head in her late twenties approached them, "May I help you gentlemen?"

Castiel mumbled that they were fine but Dean beamed and asked with a confident smirk, "Do you have male lingerie?"

Cas's jaw dropped as they were guided to the men's section. The assistant left them to look. Dean whispered, "You like my candy jock so much, how about something silky?"

Castiel's hand reached onto the rack and fingered a black lacey piece that had already caught Dean's eye.

"You like it?" Dean muttered into his ear, "You'd like me in that?"

He lifted the mini-hanger and examined the black silk brief-shorts with their lace hem. They were kind of cool, masculine yet pretty. Dean rubbed the soft material with his fingertips. It was smooth and seamless. He could feel a phantom version against the sensitive skin of his dick and balls, imagined the dark silk riding up his crack as he swelled and strained against the thin crotch. He could push it aside and feel Castiel's tongue on his slit while wearing the luscious man-panties. He licked his lips as he caught Castiel's dilated blue pupils, "Can you see them? Wet as I'm leaking for you? Wet from you mouthing my head through the silk?"

Castiel huffed and steadied his body by leaning their sides together.

"Fuck," Dean gasped. "I want you."

"I want you too," Castiel croaked, "Can we go home Dean?"

"With the panties?" Dean smiled both shyly and slyly.

"God yes," Castiel yanked Dean's arm toward the cashier counter. He had his credit card out while they waited to be served. Dean's idle hands fiddled with a counter display of flavored nipple balms. "You want one Dean?"

Dean hummed, imagining Cas rubbing the jelly in circles around his nubs. "You chose the flavor."

Castiel laughed lightly, "That way you get all the fun. Do you like vanilla?"

Dean snorted and deliberately misinterpreted, "I'm not vanilla. How about the strawberry vanilla ripple? You got a food kink?"

Cas's cheeks pinked up, "No… not a kink…." He flushed more, "But I have hidden talents."

Dean hummed, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Castiel purred, "Why Mr. Winchester that is an offer I can't refuse."

They couldn't get back to Palo Alto fast enough. Dean flicked radio channels for some classic rock distraction, or else they might have risked a ticket for public indecency or dangerous driving. Settling for Glen Campbell's soothing tones, Wichita Lineman saw them across county lines. Dean's emotions were in tune with the lyrics and he mouthed along to "And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time."

Castiel caught him and squeezed his thigh.

"That's not helping Cas." Dean chuckled. "Eyes on the road."

"My eyes are on the road," Cas replied, "My mind though…"

"And your dick," Dean snorted as Cas's hips twisted for comfort.

Dean wasn't sure whether he was pleased that the lights were with them as they headed for Cowper Street. A stop light might have afforded some relief but the string of greens meant their thrumming urgency would be sated sooner.

Dean had Castiel's face in his hands as the student stumbled backwards through the door. Castiel for his part was attempting to peel Dean's jacket off his shoulders, while keeping hold of their purchases.

"Whoa, Darlings, mental scarring alert," Balthazar raised a glass of white wine in their direction and shouted after them, "Den off limits, take it to your room Cassie!"

Castiel muttered an approximation of an apology. The TV began to blare. Dean quirked his lips at Balthazar's attempt to drown out their impending sex noises. Castiel pinned him against the wall. Dean's chest heaved, "What do you want Cas?"

"I want," Castiel kissed the cleft of Dean's chin, then the corner of his lips. "I want you naked."

"What about the panties?" Dean hissed as he crushed Castiel's messy hair with his fingers, pulling their heads together.

"I want you to wear them all day, so you can think of me, and I can think of you…"

"Shit, that's so freaking brazen, twisted and hot," Dean licked a stripe onto Cas's neck under his afternoon stubble. "You in front of those young teenage minds, imagining me with silk sliding over my needy cock as I bend down to fill displays of low hanging fruit…"

Cas snorted and smacked Dean's arm, "You're so cheesy."

"I'm adorable." Dean retorted.

"You are, my adorable green-eyed lover," Cas tenderly cupped Dean's cheek and smoothed his skin with his thumb, before kissing lightly, "Adorable freckles, symmetrical lunar scar, long sexy lashes…"

Dean was heating up under the admiration. His mouth was parched. He was hit by the miracle that such a flawed being would be worthy of Castiel's attentions, but he pushed aside his awe in favor of making Castiel's eyes sparkle with laughter, "Don't forget my perky nipples."

"Strawberry rippled nipples," Cas tittered.

"Maybe you'll get the tasty nipple dip treatment." Dean growled and helped Cas rip his tee off over his head. As he used one foot to dance out of his jeans' leg, he dived for the sex store bag, and whooped as he pulled out the little metallic tub.

Cas flopped onto his unmade bed. Dean followed with feline motion. He pushed Castiel back and blew cold air over his pink nubs. The dumb balm cap was a screw top but the momentary struggle to open it didn't ruin the mood because Cas took the chance to flick the elastic of Dean's boxer briefs. As he took in Castiel's slightly parted full pink lips Dean stepped out of his last item of clothing. Then he made sure to join their lips and tongues in a passionate long caress. Cas moaned deeply as Dean circled his left nipple with the pale balm.

"It's soft," Castiel breathed as his body responded to the stimulation.

Dean laughed at the obvious description, "Bet it's yummy."

He bent down and swirled this tongue around in circles. It was sweet and fruity. Castiel pressed his hands on Dean's head keeping him there until all trace was gone. He nibbled and laved moving down slowly. He kneeled between Cas's thighs and drew circles and hearts in a shiny balm trail. He drew stars and leaves following with his lips in kisses and tastes. Finally he painted rings along and around Cas's length and bent to taste them. Cas keened and drew upright, grinding their cocks together. He snatched the balm from Dean and moisturized his palms with it before taking both their lengths in his hold and applying a pressure more delicious than any flavored lube or balm. Dean wasn't being left out and he braced his body with one hand on Cas's shoulder while he rolled Castiel's balls in his fingers. With glee, he could feel them tense and contract. His own release was building quick on Cas's heels. With speeded up motions Castiel brought them both to panted mutual orgasm. Dean cried out Castiel's name adding a few cuss words for good measure. Cas leaned forward almost collapsing into Dean's arms, whispering how good it and Dean was.

Dean was spent. He rolled sideways so he could lie on his back. He was overwhelmed by how in sync he and Cas were, how open Cas was to what Dean wanted to do in the bedroom, how responsive his gorgeous dark haired lover was. Cas turned to gaze at him. Dean traced Castiel's ear with his finger and leaned forward for a gentle caress. Their foreheads met, lips parted in relaxed smiles.

"I think the balm is ruined," Dean laughed as he caught sight of the remains squished up in the little tub.

"No, Dean, you destroyed it, like you've destroyed me."

Castiel was smiling so he must be teasing, Dean thought but his breath caught.

"Destroyed me for anyone else." Castiel thankfully continued, "I'm yours Dean, heart and soul."

"Cas," Dean gasped, hoarse and broken, "Cas. I…"

"You don't have to respond in kind, Dean." Castiel said tenderly, cupping Dean's cheek and transmitting his sincerity through his gaze.

"I… you've carved a place… Here." Dean tapped his own heart. "I need you, need you with me."

"I need you too." Cas dipped his head so it laid on Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped an arm around him, holding him there, wanting to keep him there forever. Both of them cocooned in the moment, safe, together and needed… loved.

+++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was the Friday after Easter. Dean had been having a good week, which made him suspicious that a tidal wave of crap was around the corner. He'd expounded his theory to Victor the previous afternoon, making his psychiatrist grin and joke he was crossing off optimist as one of Dean's personality traits. One of Castiel's seniors had been offered a science scholarship at Berkeley, reflecting glory back on his teacher. Sam was much better. He seemed to have fought off whatever virus had been battering against the walls of his immune system. He had a lingering tiredness but there were no more sniffles or comments about weird smells.

His walk to work had been pleasant, the early hour warm enough for Dean to shuck his outer jacket. The delivery was light and Shirley brought in the remnants of her grandkids' Easter eggs melted down into a rice krispie treats. Mrs. Lincoln was in early. She took priority as Dean helped her search for the smallest brown onions, to save on waste as the elderly lady cooked for one.

It was near clocking out time when Mitchell asked him to tidy the tubs of prepared salad. Dean was hunched over mixed up quinoa and ranch potato, internally cussing customers who shuffled everything and then walked off without replacing the display. A harassed looking older woman with wild grey hair, a dark long coat, and broken veins spidering her face, plunked a jumbo sized squishy handbag on top of the egg mayo by Dean's ankles. He turned his head slowly and raised his brows but either she was oblivious or didn't give a damn if she damaged products. She began rooting in the bag muttering to herself about specials and someone called Missy. Dean took a pace to the side and moved to straighten up the pots of sour cream dips.

"Young man." She demanded imperiously.

Dean gave her his best customer service smile which did not extend to his eyes. There was a bad vibe coming from her, as well as a faint whiff of old liquor.

She had sheets of coupons in her hand and was waving them at him, "Where is your Greengoods Premium Slaw?"

Dean so wanted to jab a finger straight in front of her and point it out on the shelf but annoyingly she was correct. It was off sale. He nodded and pointed to the nearby warehouse doors.

"Yes, yes, go fetch me some," She said with patronizing distraction and began to dig in her bag once more. Dean stalked to the chill room and was vindictively glad that the slaw was out of stock, except now he had to explain that to an old witch who made his vocal cords seize up.

He cleared his throat a couple of times to gain her attention as well as to launch into speech, "It's all out."

"What do you mean all out? There is none on the shelf." She gestured wildly, causing one of the tubs to totter as her hand glanced over it.

Dean caught a stronger hit of whiskey fumes from her breath or her pores. There was no reasoning with drunks. He ducked his head and apologized, "Sorry, Ma'am. It is sold out. Be in tomorrow."

"Missy's coming today. What use is that to me? This store has gone to hell since young Adler took over. Ridiculous." She fumed and reached for her open bag. Then she halted, "Where are my coupons, boy? What have you done with them?"

Dean stared at her. This was not happening.

"My coupons. Hand them over. Now!" Her voice rose to shouting pitch.

Dean glanced around. Risa looked over from the fruit section. The woman was wacko. He hadn't touched her dumb frigging coupons.

"N-n-nothing," He stuttered and raised his palms as she continued her verbal onslaught.

"Coming in here all my life. Never thought a retarded store boy would steal my coupons."

"Hey, hey," Dean managed, "I didn't steal nothing."

She was batshit crazy. Dean watched as she frantically tossed around the contents of her bag.

Zachariah's voice pierced Dean's head, "What is going on here?"

"This boy is a thief." She declared in a high pitched screech.

Dean went red with anger and embarrassment as other customers turned to look. Mitchell and Risa moved closer.

"Mrs. Bender," The manager batted his eyelashes at the nutjob, "Won't you come to my office? There has been a misunderstanding."

"I am not going anywhere with you Adler." She steamed, "Tell your boy to give me back my property."

"Dean," Zachariah turned to his frozen employee, "Do you have Mrs. Bender's coupons?"

Dean's jaw dropped at being asked if he was a thief. Technically he'd used the five fingered discount all across the States, but that was years ago and to feed his growing weed of a brother. He had been scrupulously honest at work, not even popping grapes and berries into his mouth like he saw some of his workmates do. He shook his head with his teeth biting down on his lip.

"He took them." Mrs. Bender's nose wrinkled exposing yellowed teeth, "What are you going to do about it Adler?"

"Empty your pockets Dean." Zachariah commanded.

"What?" Dean gasped.

Risa hissed. Mitchell tried to intervene, "Why don't we take this out back, Boss?"

"Turn out your pockets Winchester," Zachariah's expression brooked no argument.

Dean gulped in humiliation. His arms hung by his side, mouth agape, pupils wide with shock. He felt his hands comply, turning out the lining of his jacket pockets, while their audience took in the show. He displayed his trouser pockets too, showing his pen, locker key and plastic covered blade. He wanted to shout at the drunken bitch that never touched her fucking coupons. The old hag probably had them in her handbag or another customer snatched them from under her nose.

"See Mrs. Bender," Zachariah laid on his smarmy charm thick, "Dean did not have your coupons. You must have forgotten them."

"I did not." The older woman stamped her foot in anger and cast an accusing eye over them all.

Dean wished he could stamp on her instep just as hard.

"May I?" Risa asked kneeling down and gesturing at the open bag.

Mrs. Bender huffed, "Go ahead. Let all of you help yourselves to my possessions."

Risa ignored the jibe. Dean was still immobilized by the events, concentrating on breathing and trying to believe he wasn't asleep having a nightmare. He admired Risa's braving of tetanus and bug bites, as his colleague took mere seconds to find a closed zip pocket and extract the folded coupon sheets.

"Yes. Well. Sorry." The obnoxious woman said without conviction before proceeding to attack Zachariah for not having the Premium Slaw on sale.

As he heard Mr. Adler's apology include that Dean could have been more helpful, he felt his jacket being tugged. Risa guided him as he followed her numb and compliant up the stairs to the staff room. He could feel his pulse racing as his mind started to catch up. Risa sat him down and made him a cup of coffee with three heaped spoons of sugar.

"You OK, Dean?"

He half nodded, half head shook. He handed her his numbered locker key. Thankfully she understood and returned with his sackpack, while he stared at the inky surface of the coffee between his knees. He rooted as blindly as Mrs. Bender, seeking his Xanax but finding the smooth surface of his cell phone.

Risa had to get back to her work. As the un-tasted sweet coffee cooled in his hands, Dean began to shake, but it wasn't with fear or anxiety. Rage was building under his skin. He would not be treated like that. His fingers fumbled around his cell.

_I'm quitting this shithole!_

He scrolled beyond Cas, not wanting to interrupt his classes, and rolled back from Sam for the same reason. He stabbed the send button with Garth's name highlighted.

He closed his eyes but could see himself from the outside, like looking down from the ceiling, standing there like the dumb-fuck Mrs. Bender had assumed him to be. He fumed at his own inaction. He hated the way he had obeyed in the face of authority and irrationality. Why had he been so compliant? Why hadn't he stood up for himself, insisted on his rights? Winchesters weren't pussies. He was not going to let any bully walk all over him like Dad had, like the bastards when he got to ACIC… No freaking way. He wasn't going to let that dickwad steal his voice.

Instead of popping a Xanax, Dean let his anxiety turn hard and dry. It solidified into a golden snitch-like ball of rage. How dare Zachariah treat him like scum? How dare some drunk accuse him of stealing? How dare they put him back in the position of his father's good boy rolling over in the face of abuse?

His hands shook. He put the cup on the table and grabbed his wrist cuffs to steady his tremble. He tried to count his breaths. He had to get out of Greengoods. He stood and grabbed his bag.

Mr. Adler stood in the doorway watching him, "Come into my office, Dean."

He turned without a backwards glance, sure Dean would trail after him like a well behaved puppy.

Dean had enough. It was a tipping point. He wasn't taking anyone's crap a minute longer. He marched into the room almost blowing the door off its hinges.

Zachariah raised his brows as he took his big leather swivel seat.

Dean laid his palms on the surface of the assbutt's desk. It was safer that way, adding an extra motion before Dean could curve his hands into fists.

"Fu-Fuck you!"

"Now Dean. There is no need for vulgarity. Mrs. Bender is an old loyal customer. Her mind is now put at ease about the trustworthiness of Greengoods and our employees." Zachariah leaned back in the chair, blatantly pleased with the way things had worked out.

"Fuck you, asshole." Dean unpinned his detested name pin and slammed it on the desk. "You can stick your crappy store and your customer fucking service where the sun don't shine."

"Calm down Dean." Zachariah elaborated as if he was talking to a small child, "I can overlook your outburst due to your condition…"

"My condition?" Dean blinked.

"Your mental state." Zachariah gave a condescending smile, "and your irrational reaction to the accusation…"

"I don't give two shits about Mrs. Freaking Boozy Bender. It was you, you dickhead, you treated me like dirt and I am out of here."

"Excuse me young man. I don't care for your tone. We gave you a job. You should be grateful and have respect for your employer. These hysterical hormonal carrier outbursts will not be tolerated."

"I don't give a crap. I quit." Dean shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't have heard that last comment.

"Hold your horses," A new voice called from the open door.

Dean turned to see Garth leaning against the frame. He furrowed his brow at the sock puppet over the raised hand.

"Oopsy," Garth gave a giggle, "Mr. Fizzles was out in force at the women's shelter."

"Mr. Fitzgerald," Zachariah began.

Garth interrupted, "So I get a text from my client as I'm finishing my Los Altos appointment. Then I pull up in the lot here and overhear two ladies talking about a disgraceful display of employee intimidation, and now I believe I heard an example of sexual and gender discrimination."

Zachariah's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"Greengoods' place in the Ticket to Work program is contingent on providing an exemplary work environment for the beneficiary to reach their full potential free of bullying or harassment."

"It is." Zachariah insisted, "We are. Mr. Winchester was using foul and abusive language."

Garth turned to where Dean was still flushed with anger but holding his ire in check as he watched developments. "Have you quit?"

Dean licked his lips, "Told him to stuff his job."

"In writing?" Garth asked.

Dean shook his head.

"What exactly happened?" Garth looked to both men.

Zachariah jumped in, giving an accurate account, if twisted towards defending his actions and customer service.

"Why didn't you ask my client if he would submit to a staff search in an appropriate office? Why did you not firstly attempt to reason with the customer and allow her time to find the items in her possession?"

"It is Greengoods policy that the customer is always right." Zachariah pursed his lips, "But on this occasion, perhaps it could have been handled more professionally."

"If it was another member of your team, Mr. Adler, would you have acted in the same manner?" Garth leaned forward, "Think carefully, your continued inclusion in the beneficiary scheme is contingent upon your answer."

Zachariah cleared his throat, "Honestly. I am not sure. I wish to apologize to you and to Dean. I hope, Dean that you will reconsider your decision to leave."

Dean sucked in his bottom lip. "I don't know."

Garth spoke directly to him, "You can transfer your ticket, Dean. You have worked most of April so your May social security will be unaffected, but the next main intake day is not until July, so you will need to start anew in one of a limited list of current vacancies."

Dean remembered back to the start of the year. There had been a lot of dud choices.

Garth looked at Dean for his reaction, "If you truly detest it here, or today was a common occurrence…"

"It is not," The store owner protested.

"…I will support you, but if you withdraw your verbal resignation, I am sure Mr. Adler will be more circumspect in his employee relations."

Dean thought about it. He had made the effort to get to know his workmates and had grown to feel he was part of the team. He didn't mind the work. If Zachariah was guaranteed to be less of a dick, then maybe he was better where he was, than risking a worse position.

"I don't like it when you call me 'Good Boy'. I'm not a dog." Dean shot a look at his chastened manager.

"No more. You are a good worker, Dean. I would be sorry to lose you." Zachariah promised, "I will be happy to take on board your concerns."

Dean nodded. "I'll stay for now." He puffed out a breath, "And I'm sorry I cussed you out."

"Apology accepted." Zachariah stood to shake their hands. "And Dean, why don't you take tomorrow as a day of paid leave."

Garth gave an approving nod, before asking Dean if he was ready to go.

"You got your car?" Garth asked in the warehouse.

"Naw, left it for Sam." Dean sighed.

"I'll give you a ride home".

Dean was grateful. He was OK. He didn't need a Xanax or to call Victor, but he was glad he didn't have to walk home. He felt his legs weighing him down and he wanted to go to his room for some quiet time. Later when his equilibrium was more balanced and the hummingbird stopped fluttering in his chest, he would call Castiel and fill him in on the nasty old bitch and his run in with his douchebag manager.

"Would you like me to come in? We could have a coffee?" Garth asked outside the house.

"I'm good," Dean said with partial honesty. "Don't you have appointments? And thought you didn't do caffeine?"

Garth gave a toothy grin, "My appointments got shelved by an emergency call out. I have my own herbal tea if you have hot water?"

"I'm good," Dean repeated with more confidence, "You get back to the other suckers who need your help."

Garth met his eye, suddenly diamond sharp, "You are not a sucker, Dean."

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. He'd let Zachariah make him empty his pockets in front of everyone, his colleagues, the customers… sure he'd chewed him out afterwards when his anger fuelled confidence flooded in, but he could bang his own head against the wall for falling back into victimhood. He should've walked out of the store… he huffed with his hand on the door handle.

"You know if you want to keep your options open, you are welcome to attend the summer Employer/Beneficiary day. See if you'll like to transfer." Garth offered.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, put my name down. I'll check it out."

"And if you get any more…"

"Crap?" Dean interrupted.

Garth chuckled, "I was going to say hassle, but yes, any crap, you call me, and I'll move you. You haven't seen any nastiness towards Carsten?"

"God. No. He loves the place, and everyone loves him." Dean reassured the social worker that his fellow Ticket to Work staff member was fine.

"Good. You sure you're OK?" Garth checked again.

Dean hummed, then gave a plastered on grin. He would be fine. He had to let it go. He thought back to Layla and her advice about the pointlessness of regretting actions or inactions that occurred in the heat of the moment. Learn from it and move on. He'd learned. He wouldn't let Zachariah get the jump on him again, and now Garth had Mr. Adler on his radar, the manager wasn't going to jeopardise his store's reputation as a good community business by risking exclusion from the Ticket to Work program. He muttered a final thanks to his social worker and headed indoors.

The house was blessedly quiet. Dean went to the refrigerator and was tempted by a beer to dull the jumpiness under his skin, but he pulled out the share size Coke and gulped down a tall glass.

There was a lump in Sam's bed. A Sam shaped lump. It was after 11am. Dean paused inside the door and rubbed the back of his neck. He was sure Sam had a Cultural Anthropology class. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. This was too much. There was something wrong with Sam.

Dean moved silently to his bed. He eased the zipper on his vanity medication case, looking for his vitmains while keeping one eye on Sam's bed. This month he'd gone to the pharmacy straight after his appointment with Victor and he had his full new boxes of each script taking up space in the polka dot case. His hand brushed against the Penandrocol box and stopped dead. The dark blue pill, his day one in the previous blister, the one to replace Sam's day 14… it had been in the pack for too long….

Dean cupped his hand over his mouth, pressing in and breathing through his nostrils. Sam couldn't be? Could he?

Dean remembered. He had been so tired. He'd dragged his body around, trying to make Batesville seem more pleasant and homey for Sam. He moved his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It still hurt to think of his final days with Aaron, how happy they all had been in Speedway… but he remembered how he'd gotten dizzy spells that made him afraid he was going to faint like a girl and how everything tasted weird… how he couldn't stomach the smell of his favorite paprika chips… how he was just about ready to barf at the stink of Dad's Old Spice…

"Hey," Sam croaked as his mussed hair and his crumpled white tee appeared from beneath the blankets.

"Hey yourself." Dean replied, "You got sleeping sickness or what?"

"Very funny, Dean," Sam bitched and grabbed his watch off his stool nightstand, "Damn it. Where did the morning go?"

"Sam… talk to me," Dean paused and met his brother's huge eyes that were brown with fatigue, "something is wrong."

"I just don't feel great, Dee." Sam sagged back into the pillows. "Do you think I could have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Lupus or something? I'm sleeping but when I wake I'm still tired. What if there is something really wrong with me?"

Dean heard the scared sick little boy he raised for the first twelve years of Sam's life. He moved to sit on the end of Sam's bed. "I don't think so."

Sam huffed, "I took out the garbage and my stomach flipped. I had to give up my cardio at the gym because I was wheezing like an asthmatic. I woke with the bitch of a headache." Sam's voice turned wry, "Brady is note taking for me this morning and Jess said she'll copy her Development Psychology notes for me if I don't make it in after lunch. I thought I was fighting off a virus, but it's not going away."

"I think you should get checked out." Dean noticed a tremble to his hands. He didn't know how to broach the topic of pregnancy with his brother. He couldn't find the words. It wasn't like they told each other the intimate details of their sex lives. He presumed his college smart brother wasn't so lacking in real life smarts that he would bareback when he'd messed up his pills, or at all this early in a relationship. Or was as naïve as seventeen year old Dean who had listened to Aaron's genuine but worthless promise to try to pull out in time.

Sam noticed Dean's shaking and looked across at the open meds case. Suddenly alert, he coughed and asked "Dee? Are you OK? Did something happen?"

"I had a bad morning," Dean gave a vaguely hysterical laugh, "I told the bug-eyed sonvabitch to fuck off."

"You didn't?" Sam gasped.

"I did." Dean nodded with a furtive grin.

"And you didn't get fired?"

"Garth rode in as a one man cavalry." Dean snorted at his own metal image of Garth on a huge horse, "This old hag accused me of taking her dumb coupons… they were in her handbag… but Zachariah had me turn out my pockets…"

"Bastard." Sam spat.

"I did it." Dean moistened his lips, "I shouldn't have. I should have told him to take a running jump…."

"He is your boss, Dean." Sam insisted. "Of course you did what he asked. I'll snap his scrawny chicken neck…"

"Hold up, hero," Dean put his hand on Sam's chest and pushed him back into the pillows, "I got my mojo fired up and gave him hell. I was ready to walk but Garth held peace talks and it's all cool. Zach got his knuckles rapped and I made an apology for my foul language with my fingers crossed behind my back."

Sam laughed. "I can picture you."

Dean clicked his tongue.

"You still nervy? Were you going to take a pill?" Sam asked.

At the word pill, Dean got up. He muttered that shit happens to calm Sam's worries. He paced the short distance between their beds and rubbed at his left arm cuff. He muttered that he was good and had it covered. He blew a long exhale and prepared to take the bull by the horns.

"Dean. Seriously. You are making me dizzy."

Dean stilled, but the fire ants of anxiety crawled under his skin. He stood within two feet of Sam's bed. "I was thinking, y'know."

"What?" Sam gave a put-upon sigh.

Dean responded as he retook the spot at the end of Sam's bed. "Do you think… y'know… when I forgot my scripts…?"

Sam nodded.

Dean took another breath and wringed his hands.

"So you think you might be… y'know?"

Sam's brows rose and he inclined his head with wide eyes encouraging Dean to continue.

Taking a final deep breath Dean finished his drawn out question, "Y'know… Sammy… pregnant?"

Sam started to shake. He shook his head in a repetitive negative motion. His shoulders hunched and Dean could see the trembling in his arms. It was like when one of the guys back in Arkansas threatened a panic attack. He caught his little brother in a strong armed hug.

Sam's voice broke with hitching breaths, "I... I can't be. I can't."

"It's OK, Sammy. Just breathe for me," Dean urged as Sam's chest heaved and he stuck his nose into Dean's neck, "We'll figure it out, Sam. We'll figure it all out."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++


	14. Thirteen

Author's Note:

Thanks you guys again for reading and all your support.

This chapter picks up where the last ended. Warning for discussion of unplanned pregnancy options, including abortion.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The word echoed in Sam's head, reverberating and bouncing off the walls of his skull.

Pregnant?

He could hear his brother's softly worded attempt to offer comfort and feel his body being pulled into a tight hug.

Pregnant with a baby?

He knew he'd denied the hints his body had been giving him. He was no expert but he'd taken Human Biology 101. He'd pushed away the errant fleeting thoughts that gagging at the garbage or feeling tired and dizzy might be more than fighting off a tummy bug. Heck, he'd thought he'd handled the risk by taking a triple dose of Penandrocol when he'd gotten home from Nick's place.

Sam moved subtly not wanting to draw Dean's attention and pressed his flat stomach with the span of his hand. Was there a tiny grain of life in there?

He felt stunned and sick at the same time. He couldn't be? He supposed biologically and physically he could be, probably was pregnant. But mentally, academically, in terms of his age and his developing relationship with Nick, he couldn't be. His breathing picked up pace. Dean rubbed circles into his back. Sam stuffed his nose into Dean's collar bone, like when he was little boy and scared of the monsters under his bed.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean asked gently, "You want to make sure? You want I can buy a pee stick?"

"No. I can't." Sam said. He sounded like a scratched vinyl record. His vocabulary narrowed down to those negatives.

"How about seeing a doc?" Dean tried. "'Cause, y'know Princess, if you're not baking a bun in your oven then you've got some seriously weird-ass infection."

Sam gulped. His nose felt cold as he untucked it from his brother's Greengoods polo shirt. He nodded.

"You want me to call?" Dean asked.

"I can do it." Sam said pressing his lips into a tight line.

He knew Dean found it harder to speak on the telephone, preferring to text when he wasn't face to face. He had programmed the number for Student Health Services into his cell the previous year when he'd caught a chest infection from his intolerable dorm roommate. The receptionist sounded busy and didn't ask why he wanted to see a physician, which was just as well, because Sam wasn't ready to explain. He had an appointment for 2pm. Dean went to shower his morning away, while Sam tried to figure out what he should wear to his appointment. He decided on sweat pants and the dark blue hoodie Dean kept stealing. It was easier to focus on his search for clean boxer briefs and matching socks.

He got a text from Jess asking if he would make their shared psychology class, how he was, and if she needed to keep her handwriting neat so he could read her notes.

He texted back a simple _Please_.

In the kitchen Sam wanted a hot pocket and a coffee but that got vetoed by Dean, who made him a BLT and instructed him drink two tall glasses of Sprite, because Sam was going to have to pee in a cup.

"Are you going to call Nick?" Dean asked low with his back turned scraping the tomato seeds into the trash can.

"Can't," Sam muttered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There might not be a baby. He might have a strange virus or condition. They might name it after him: SamWinchesterItis or SamWinchesterSyndrome.

"OK," Dean gave a slight smile, "Just thought you might want his company."

"You're coming aren't you?" Sam gasped. He'd presumed Dean would go with him, "Like in with me to the doctor?"

Dean's eyelid twitched, "You sure?"

"Yes. I can't go in on my own. Please Dee." Sam knew he was asking a lot, and if Dean said he wasn't able for the stress of it, then he'd back off, suck it up and go in alone, but he had virtual fingers and toes crossed that Dean would come and stand beside him.

"Sure Sammy. I'll come with you." Dean came and patted his shoulder, "Come on, let's move."

Dean drove.

Sam had to grasp the paint work outside the clinic door. His knees suddenly decided they couldn't take his weight. Dean was there, pushing his body under his shoulder and telling him it would be alright.

The waiting area was sparsely occupied. Two teary eyed girls sat opposite. Sam wondered if they were there for the same reason he was. He wasn't crying. He was numb. Dean leaved through a National Geographic. Sam couldn't look at it. The magazine reminded him of Nick and the story he had told him about growing up wanting to go into botany and maybe be a founding light of environmental science. Nick hadn't gotten his dream. Sam's chest clenched with the implications a baby would have on his academic dreams. Those dreams might have changed recently from the hot-shot lawyer with a house and family in the 'burbs, into expanding knowledge of Anthropology, a life including Dean, and refuge in Nick's arms…

"Sam Winchester?"

Sam rose and straightened his shoulders. Dean was beside him.

The room was like any other clinical doctor's surgery. It was painted in muted neutral tones and had a lot of floor space around her desk, the patient table, and a screened off area.

Dr Grainger's glasses perched on the end of her nose as she looked at the slim file the receptionist had left for this appointment. Sam remembered the middle aged rather heavy-set brunette from when he was coughing up his lungs but he doubted she recalled a patient she had only seen once. She looked from one brother to the other. "So Sam, what brings you here today?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I've been under the weather."

He could sense Dean urging him to continue. The doctor looked across unblinking as she too waited for more.

"I… messed up my Penandrocol."

Dr Grainger hummed and glanced at his file. Sam wondered if she needed evidence in print of his carrier biology.

"Have you taken a pregnancy test?"

Sam gulped and shook his head. Dean's hand pressed his right forearm into the armrest.

"Well why don't we start there?" She smiled kindly and produced a small plastic cup. "There is a cubicle through that door."

Sam thanked Dean silently for the Sprite overdose because his whole body seemed to have seized up from his voice box to his limbs.

Dr Grainger disappeared for a few minutes. Sam looked at a spot on the floor between his trainers. Dean shifted in his seat a few times, perhaps thinking of offering verbal support, but he stilled and said nothing. What was there to say anyway until they knew?

When she returned the physician took her seat before placing her joined hands on the desk, "Sam. Yes. You are pregnant."

A single short noise of distress, almost animalistic, escaped Sam's mouth.

"Are you the father?" Dr Grainger asked Dean, whose mouth dropped open at the question.

"No." Sam recovered his wits, "Dean's my brother. My boyfriend is.. I mean, I haven't said… we didn't plan…I'm sorry."

"Well it is good to see you have family support as this is an unplanned pregnancy."

Sam was sure that statement was meant to be reassuring but it made the pregnancy all the more real, imagining Dean supporting him through it.

Dr Grainger turned her attention back to Sam, "At your age…"

"Nineteen," Sam supplied.

"Nineteen." The doctor repeated with a kindly nod, "I rarely see a planned pregnancy here. Unfortunately you are only the first of this year's Spring Break potential parents to come for other than the morning after pill."

Sam moistened his lips. Fucking hell, he'd never thought of calling in for a morning after pill.

"I am a correct? A Spring Break conception?" She asked keeping her tone light, as if he couldn't take firm probing questions.

Sam nodded, "Evening of the 26th."

She hummed sagely, "Grades day."

Dean squeezed his arm again.

"Condom broke… I'd missed the day 14 dark blue pill…" He raised his eyes to look at the doctor, "But I took three together."

She gave a little laugh, but not a cruel one, "That is ineffective."

"When should you have cycled?"

Sam coughed, "Without the Penandrocol I don't know. I was never regular. That's why I started them as soon as I turned eighteen."

Sam felt Dean stiffen. He knew Dean was putting two and two together and understanding how difficult things had been living with their father.

"But if I'd taken them in order, three weeks ago."

The doctor nodded. She picked up a desk calendar. "We can look at a firmer due date, if and when you go for a scan, but if you are close on five weeks now then we are looking at an end of year or New Year birth."

"Dude," Dean hissed his first comment since entering the office, "If you have the first baby of 2004 it'll be like winning the diaper lottery."

Sam chuckled in spite of himself at Dean's fantasy of a mountain of sponsored diapers.

"I have some literature on your options."

Sam nodded. He bit his bottom lip and reached forward for the pamphlets.

"If I did want a termination…"

Dean gasped. Sam looked to his right. Dean's face was stricken. Sam's heart almost stopped at the pain in his brother's expression.

Luckily the doctor answered, "This is not a decision to be rushed into. If you do decide not to proceed then I'd like to book you a session with the clinic counselor, and not schedule the D&E until a week later."

"D&E?" Sam asked. The tension was literally vibrating from Dean but Sam needed to know.

"It is dilation and suction. The cells are vacuumed rather than the D&C's scraping of cutterage."

And Dean was gone, stumbling out the door of the office.

Sam jumped up and called a panicked plea to excuse him for a minute. He found Dean pressed against the wall outside the office door. He was bent double, breathing heavily.

"Dean?" Sam asked very tentatively.

"'m sorry, I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean sighed, "Fuck. I want to be in there for you. I just… Fuck it. I can't."

"If we change the subject could you come back in?" Sam asked. He knew it was selfish but he needed Dean there.

"It hurts, Sam." Dean whispered, "It still hurts. If you are making an appointment for… I don't think I can."

Sam caught Dean's arm and pleaded, "I'm not Dean. I swear to God, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm treading water here Man. I don't have a clue."

It must have been the right thing to say because Dean stood tall and walked back in, without even a shuffle, sticking close to Sam's side.

Dr Grainger raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. "Sam, would you like to remove your lower items of clothing and hop up on the table for me?"

Sam was sure he would not like to remove his clothes and expose himself on a table but he did as requested.

Dr Grainger asked easy questions about his alcohol, caffeine and smoking habits, while she drew blood. Sam admitted his occasional indulgences, omitted that the smoking was of shared Andy's joints, and wondered privately if his child had been conceived in a mix of gin and vermouth.

Sam found his legs being eased into stirrups while Dr Grainger distracted him with her explanations of the blood tests she was ordering. He could see Dean leaning against her desk, staying in Sam's eye line while being considerate enough to allow him his modesty. He appreciated it and gave a reassuring head bob in his big brother's direction.

The doctor continued to ask him questions about his tiredness, headaches, diet, any allergies and medical conditions while he underwent the weird and uncomfortable sensation of being stretched and a pap smear being taken.

"All done," She smiled snapping off her gloves. "Now hop on the scales and we'll get a baseline weight for you."

The scales read 190 pounds. Sam pulled back on his clothes and retook his seat.

"Just a final few items," The doctor must have been able to tell both Winchesters were getting antsy. "Any previous pregnancies? STDs? Surgeries?"

Sam shook his head at each.

"Have you taken any drugs since you conceived?"

"Just a few Tylenol and my contraceptive." Sam smiled ruefully, "Guess that was a waste."

"Any family history of medical conditions? Pregnancy problems?"

Dean stuttered, "I… I… lo..lost a baby. About 10 or 11 weeks…"

"I am sorry," Dr Grainger said sympathetically, "We'll schedule you for an early obstetrics appointment and ultrasound, Sam. At eight weeks, just to check everything is going as planned."

"Fine," Sam agreed.

"And the father's medical history?"

"I dunno." Sam chewed his lip. "I guess if I'm … I'll find out if…"

"It would be helpful to know of any genetic history on his side, but that can wait. I want to take your blood pressure and then you are free to go." She pulled the cuff out of her drawer and came around. Sam removed his hoodie. She wrapped it around his arm and asked if he had any questions.

"I suppose," Sam took a breath, "Some of them are dumb."

Dean caught a laugh before it blurted out. Sam shot him a narrow eyed look.

"I am sure I've heard them all. Shoot." Dr Grainger offered.

"Should I eat different? Like more of some foods or take vitamins or stuff?" Sam asked.

"A healthy balanced diet. Plenty of fiber. Lots of water. Hydration is important. I'm going to give you a good multivitamin with folic acid." She paused, "I'm afraid you are looking at increased heartburn, bloating and more than likely morning sickness in the coming weeks, so eating what you can stomach and keep down will be more important than if the soup is homemade or from a can."

"When can you hear a heartbeat?" Sam sucked a breath. He hadn't meant to ask that. He'd wanted to ask about his tender nipples. If he heard a heartbeat, then that would make the baby more of a real person.

"Not until the end of the first trimester." She concentrated on her blood pressure monitor.

Sam had a final question. He shot a warning look at Dean, "Will I? Will I have to wear a bra?"

Dean snorted and turned his face away. Sam knew the bastard was laughing.

Dr Grainger took pity on him and answered in perfect seriousness. "Your chest will develop more towards the final trimester, lactation in the final weeks is common, but most male carriers only reach an A-cup and chose not to wear a support garment. If you breastfeed, and we recommend it, then you might swell to a B-cup. After the milk dries up if you exercise for weight and chest definition, your body will redefine into a more non-carrier male shape." She undid the Velcro of the cuff, "Now. We have a small issue. I need to ask you to stay for a while."

Sam stared at her. Dean leaned forward in his seat.

"I didn't like that you have been experiencing headaches and you say you occasionally have had them before the pregnancy. Your blood pressure is 142 over 85."

"What does that mean?" Sam and Dean spoke as one unit.

"You may have chronic hypertension. Normal readings are in the range of 120 over 70. The first figure is your systolic which can be raised by stress, and given your unplanned news, it is not surprising. The second reading is your diastolic, which is when your heart relaxes and fills with blood, and it is a more fundamental reading of your body's condition. I would like you to head out to the waiting area and try to relax. Sip some water. Take it easy, and I will take another reading in approximately thirty minutes after my next appointment. OK Sam?"

"What does this mean?" Sam gasped.

"At the moment, not much. Let's wait until I have a second reading." She nodded and walked them to the door, telling the receptionist that she would be calling Mr. Winchester back.

Dean put his hand on Sam's elbow and guided him to a quiet corner away from the magazine table.

"You have to calm down," Dean whispered.

Sam realized he was clenching his fists. He eased open his fingers and made an effort by puffing a few breaths.

"Calm?" Sam's voice shook, "I'm a freak, Dean. People are gonna look at me and see a freak. When was the last time you saw a pregnant male carrier around here?"

"Last month in the store…" Dean tried to say.

"I can't remember when," Sam talked over his brother, "I can't recall the last pregnant any gender student I've seen on campus. I know you won't think I'm a freak of nature. I mean you've lived with pregnant guys for years. But other people are going to look at me and think I'm a dumb freak-queer, getting caught while a sophomore, with a big basketball stomach displaying my freakishness for everyone."

"Hey, Hey" Dean patted his knee, "You listen to me Sam. Fuck them. Fuck every one of them, if they think that. Who gives a crap what some bigoted asshats think? And I betya from what the Doc said you're not the only one with a Spring Break baby."

Sam gave a stiff nod. He was supposed to be trying to relax. He spotted the water cooler and got a plastic cup from the chilled side. He caught a glance of his body reflected in the glass of the entry door. There was a tiny life in there. Did he want it? A life made out of his and Nick's DNA, he did. Could he do it? He didn't know. He was scared shitless. He was scared of losing his dream of a degree, his escape from the life he grew up in, his chance to shine academically. He looked at Dean and wondered what dreams had he had at seventeen. His brother had lost so much. He slung his arm over Dean's shoulder, surprising him and splashing his hand with the over spill of filtered water.

"What am I going to do?" Sam thought and must have spoke aloud because Dean reached up to squeeze Sam's hand where it hung over his shoulder. "I don't know how to tell Nick. He might think I've trapped him like the desperate girlfriend in a lifetime movie. I mean, he wants kids down the road, Dean, but he said that, y'know, in the future, not now."

"I wish we'd still been in Speedway," Dean said quietly, "It'd've been fricking nerve-wracking but I could have sat at their kitchen table or met behind the school or the back of the Gas'n'Sip and told Aaron. He'd have been as freaked as I was, but do you know, Sammy, I think he'd have been cool?"

Sam nodded, "His Dads would have been too. And me and Syd."

Dean smiled, "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how. And l spoke less then." He sighed. "You need to take care of yourself, Sam. I mean it. If I'd done things differently then maybe… maybe I could have saved my baby. Was it my fault?"

Dean's cheeks were wet. Sam nearly joined him in crying. Coming here, hearing Sam talk about the option of abortion, talking now, was so raw for Dean, Sam had to speak up, "Naomi told me the medical report suggested it was an ectopic pregnancy."

"Yeah, they told me that too." Dean shrugged, "…when I'd listen. But you listen to me Sam. I'm gonna take care of you."

"Geez Dean, like I didn't." Sam gulped.

"What? What the hell?" Dean's mouth dropped open.

"I kicked you, I wrestled you in the motel lot, I got CPS on our case, got you into the hospital and… It was my fault…" Sam said all in one rush.

"Bullshit." Dean spat. "Total bullshit. Sammy, you were a kid, a snot nosed acting out 12 year old who had lost his best friend."

"Yeah," Sam urged, "And you were a pregnant 17 year old who'd lost his boyfriend..."

"No way Sam. No frigging way. You can't feel bad about this. I won't, won't allow it." Dean shook his head vehemently. He twisted out from under Sam's arm and turned in the hard seat to face him, "It was Dad who signed me into psychiatric care and my attempt to end it all when the baby died that kept me there. Not your fault at all. Do you hear me?"

"I dunno Dean. It sure felt like it when you were dead," Sam answered with his head hung low.

Dean laughed. He actually laughed. "Hey little brother, I wasn't dead."

"I know Dee. I'm so fucking sorry," Sam blew out a long exhale. He had to hold it together. All the years of guilt was a hard ball inside him that was cracking open under Dean's complete forgiveness, absolution and refusal to pin any blame on Sam.

"Hush Sammy, it'll be ok, you'll see," Dean said.

Sam huffed, "I'm meant to be getting my blood pressure down."

"Yeah, drink your water Bitch." Dean teased.

"Jerk," Sam nudged Dean with his elbow and they grinned.

By the time they were called back into the office, Sam's pressure had dropped but not as much as Dr Grainger wanted. She'd been busy while they waited. Sam had a provisional obstetrics appointment at the clinic on May 12th. However Dr Grainger wanted him back the following week for another blood pressure reading. She said if it was still elevated he would have to be monitored for the gestation. The nurse could take the reading but she wanted to see him as his bloods would be back and it would give them a chance to talk about his options. Dean remained silent as Sam nodded his agreement. With an instruction to take things easy and the confirmation of his pregnancy sinking in, Sam left the clinic.

Outside he felt ill, his stomach was queasy, and there was a buzzing spinning in his brain. He sat into the shotgun seat and said, "I feel sick."

"No barfing in the 'pala." Dean said gruffly but with a concerned eye.

"'kay," Sam managed to reply. He rested his head against the cool glass of the side window.

Dean pulled up outside the small grocery store on Webster and disappeared inside. Sam just wanted to get home, but if Dean needed Bing Bongs or a slice of pie after his own traumatic remembrances Sam wasn't going to deny him. Instead he got four cans of Canada Dry Ginger Ale dumped on his lap. He chanced a querulous, "Huh?"

"For the nauseous tum," Dean answered, "ACIC had a whole storage pantry of ginger ale and saltine crackers. Chuck and I raided it one day when Kit couldn't keep anything down."

When they pulled into the car port Dean held out his hand, "Give me your cell."

Sam obeyed, maybe Dean's battery had died.

"Hi, this is Sam's brother."

Sam heard the introduction and mouthed at Dean to tell him who he had called.

"Sam's ill. He won't be in tonight."

Sam's jaw dropped. He blinked at his brother while the cold condensation from the ginger ale cans penetrated his sweats and chilled his thighs.

"Thank you. I'll tell him." Dean gifted Sam with his best shit faced grin, "Vepar says he hopes you are better soon."

"You coulda got Alastair." Sam gaped.

"I coulda disconnected the call." Dean shot back.

"You coulda got Nick." Sam added.

"I woulda said the same." Dean responded as he exited the car.

The sound of laughter and the smell of sweet baked goods told them that the house was no longer empty. Dean pointed wordlessly at the stairs asking if Sam wanted to avoid company but Sam shook his head. These were his friends, his housemates, he wasn't going to avoid them, and he figured he needed some distraction.

"You can't tell anyone," Sam hissed urgently.

"I wouldn't," Dean replied earnestly and kept Sam's gaze until he nodded in acknowledgment of the intrinsic trust between them.

In the warm brightly lit kitchen, Jessica's hands were covered by oven mitts as she pulled a tray of freshly baked giant choc chip cookies from the oven. Sam smiled at the sight of his happy friend with her flour dusted jeans and diamond pattern blouse. Sarah was at the coffee maker. Sam saw Castiel's trench coat draped over a chair before he saw his brother snake around the open refrigerator door to pull his boyfriend into a tight hug. As Castiel straightened he cupped the back of Dean's head encouraging a kiss.

"You guys," Castiel chuckled, "You had Jessica and Sarah worried."

"I wasn't the one who asked three times where Dean was." Sarah laughed.

"I just got here." Castiel protested, "I was enquiring from each house member. By the way Brady said he has gone on the Caltrain to work and you are late, Sam."

"Sammy isn't going in. He's not well." Dean informed them.

"Is that where you've been?" Jess demanded. "Did Dean finally persuade your stubborn butt to go to a doctor?"

"Hum, yeah, I've got high blood pressure." Sam muttered as he took a seat and pulled the tab on his ginger ale. His stomach was doing fluttery flips again. The cookies smelled divine but he didn't know if he could eat anything.

Jessica snorted, "You wasted your money. I coulda told you that, Mr. Headache and Stress-ball."

"Thanks Nurse Moore," Sam teased back. "I gotta 'take it easy'. Dean called The Gates and told 'em I wasn't coming in."

"Good on you, Dean." Sarah beamed with obvious approval, "High time Sam started taking care of himself."

"I kinda gotta." Sam huffed, not adding that there was another life involved now.

"Coffees?" Sarah offered.

Sam refused but the others all took a mug. They sipped their drinks while they waited the proscribed minutes until Jessica approved the cooling cookies for consumption.

Looking around the table, at his two best female friends, at his brother practically sitting on Cas's lap, at the easy relaxed atmosphere of his home, Sam tried to shake off a feeling that everything he knew, that every good thing that he had made for himself since getting out from under John's thumb was coming to an end. It was a morose and depressing thought. Along with that came the gut clenching doubt that he might also be about to lose his work family. If Nick rejected him, he thought he might shatter into tiny pieces. If Nick didn't want anything to do with the baby, if Sam couldn't cope with continuing the pregnancy and Nick hated him for making that choice, then there was no way he could continue to work at The Gates of Hell. It would be the heartbreaking end of the road not only for his relationship but also for his love of Crowley's teasing, of Meg's snarky attitude, of Ruby's playful games. He would even miss Vepar's superior sashaying walk, Baldur's temper, Max's shy laughter, and Lilith's quick wit.

"Hey, Sam, who died?" Sarah bumped his shoulder.

"Whaa? Sorry. I was thinking."

"About what dead puppies?"

"No about how life changes around us." Sam sighed and looked into the darkness of his soda can, as if the mysteries of the universe were contained at the bottom of it.

"Are you OK, Dean?" Castiel's graveled tone drew Sam's eye to his brother who was pale and wan after their joint ordeal at the clinic.

Dean cleared his throat. "I had a bad day at work."

Sam cursed himself internally. Dean telling him about the awful customer and his boss's disgraceful behavior seemed like a lifetime ago, not mere hours. He listened while Dean gave a short summary to Castiel and the girls.

"I swear to God, if that assbutt so much as looks at you wrong I will…we will sue his ass off." Castiel's fist hit the table so hard their coffees quaked and the cookies made mini-leaps on the cooling rack.

"Awh, my knight," Dean snickered.

"I'm deadly serious."

"I bet you could sue him now," Sarah shot a look at Sam. "Must be discrimination or something."

"Hey ease up guys," Dean sighed. "My social worker sorted it. It's all cool. And I got a free pass to the next open day if I want to change jobs."

Castiel gave a growling hum as if he wasn't totally satisfied with Dean's answer, "I hope you aren't staying because you think you don't deserve to work somewhere better."

"I like the guys. The work is OK. And I promise if Zach is a douchebag to me again, I'll walk. Garth already knows I will. OK?" Dean looked around, "OK Cas?"

While Castiel muttered his agreement, Jessica felt the cookies with the back of her fingers and took an experimental nibble. "Dig in guys!"

Dean did not have to be asked twice and reached over to grab a couple for himself and Castiel while Sarah placed side plates around the table. Dean looked at the plate as if it was alien technology. Sam huffed knowing his brother had no intention of eating slowly enough to require a plate. Sam took a smaller cookie while Dean attempted to stretch his lips wide enough for a half-cookie bite. Dean's eyes rolled back and his lids fluttered .

"OlmJessDawmmUmmy," Dean moaned and mumbled with his mouth full.

Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and gave an indulgent smile.

Sam laughed, "Watch out Castiel, Dean Winchester Patent Food Orgasm on approach."

Dean flipped him the bird. He picked up Cas's cookie and made a barely intelligible mutter about shared orgasms. Castiel blushed intensely while the others shared a laugh at their expense.

"Dean has a special relationship with food." Sam teased.

Dean took a slurp of his coffee, sighed and said "Can you believe I ate the same thing every day for two years?"

"Never," Castiel said in disbelief.

"I did. Once we gotta choose our food at the hospital… I guess it made me feel safe."

Sam bit his cheek, sorry for making the comment about Dean and food. Castiel gave Dean a peck of a kiss, "You are amazing."

Then as if he realized they were in company, Castiel made an attempt to deflect the topic of conversation away, "Is there a special occasion?"

Jessica rubbed her palms together nervously before tucking a strand of curls behind her ear. "So, I guess I should wait for Brady and Andy but you all know how hard it is to get everyone together."

"'Cept when The Osbournes are on," Dean interjected.

"Yeah then," Jess admitted, "Right. OK. I have an announcement."

There was a pause. Dean's lip smacking cookie eating broke the silence. For a second Sam tried to imagine that he was in Jess's place, making his own announcement, but he couldn't picture it.

"I've pledged to Pi Beta Phi."

That dropped brick met with another moment of surprised silence.

"For real?" Sarah enquired, "Like really?"

Jessica nodded.

"You mean I'm gonna have to answer the telephone as Blake, Winchester, Brady, Gallagher and Winchester?"

"Ha, Ha, Ha," Jessica mocked, "But seriously guys, I got a room share with Rebecca."

"When do you go?" Sam asked tightly. He didn't want anything to change but it seemed life was whitewater racing around him.

Jessica winced, "Next week." She quickly added, "But I wouldn't leave you guys in the lurch, Mom and Dad are going to pay my rent here until our year lease is up at the end of June."

"June?" Dean blurted.

Sam twigged that he had never explained about the student rental agreement. It went unspoken that the residents may want to go their separate ways, back to their hometowns, traveling, whatever, for the summer break. Sam had secretly hoped that the same crew would want to share again in the Fall, but if Jessica was already leaving, it was something they'd have to get together and talk out.

"We have a year rental agreement," Sam explained.

"Jess and Sam found the house in June last year," Sarah supplied.

"Andy and us moved in at the start of July," Jessica added.

"Brady and I came back at the end of August," Sarah continued, "Which is why I got the small boxy room and he lives in a dining room. Sam had won his rock paper scissors championship and got the master bedroom."

"So what happens in June?" Dean puffed a breath. Sam could see his bottom lip was quivering slightly.

"Maybe nothing," Sam tried to reassure him, "If we can keep going without Jess's rent, or find a new housemate, and if Sarah, Andy and Brady want to keep the house over the summer so we can all share again for next year."

Sarah twisted uncomfortably in her seat. Sam gritted his teeth but didn't want to ask now, the unwelcome surprise of a possible house hunt, was probably enough to add to his list of shocks Dean had experienced in one day.

"Any news with you Cas?" Sam asked.

"Me?" Castiel had been lifting his mug to his mouth but replaced it on the table, "Besides the hell of applying to every high school in California for a Fall position, no."

"Any hopes of staying where you have trained?" Jessica asked, "My cousin Philip did that back home in Vermont. "

"I would be very happy to stay in Menlo Park, but they don't have a vacancy. My position will be taken by next year's trainee." Castiel's shoulders sagged, "It almost feels like a lottery to send out scores of applications with only so many vacancies for all the newly qualified teachers and the established ones vying for the places too."

"And do you have a preference?" Sarah piped up.

Castiel looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye, "I'd like something local. Or at least somewhere with an easy commute."

"I'd like that too." Dean added and leaned more into Castiel. Sam wondered if they could get any cuter.

Castiel managed to look nervous and excited, "There is a vacancy at The Kershel Academy."

"The prestigious private elitist Kershel Academy?" Sarah checked, "Where Doctor Dickenson went? You know Sam, the Klimt expert, never shuts up about a good art appreciation education at High School level?"

Sam nodded. "They have a science vacancy?"

Castiel got a furtive but pleased look in his eye. "Their senior Math teacher is retiring at the end of the academic year."

"But you don't teach Math," Dean pointed out.

"Well I can teach lower grades, but I have it on good authority," Castiel tapped the side of his nose, "that an old friend of mine from Cornell is up for tenure and he has been teaching Math and Science classes."

"So he'll be taking 100% Math…" Jess leapt to say.

"… and they'll need a science teacher." Sarah finished.

"Precisely." Cas grinned.

"Where is this posh pinnacle of a school?" Dean chewed on his lip.

"On the shores of Clear Lake." Castiel moistened his lips, "About 3 hours north."

"Not a commute then," Dean mumbled.

"Hey," Castiel turned Dean's face to him with his fingers, "I'm applying from Crescent City to San Diego, but that doesn't mean I'll get any job or that I'll take a post. I've gotta try. I have to get a teaching position before my student loans cause banks to send debt collectors to my door."

"I know. I know Cas," Dean whispered but he didn't look happy.

"I think one of my psychology class went to Kershel. I could ask her for any insider tips." Jessica volunteered.

Castiel thanked her before suggesting Dean might like to move into the den and watch some TV. Sam was nodding his approval when Dean squinted at him. "You look beat Sam. You should go lie down."

"OK," Sam gave an obligatory eye roll, but Dean was perceiving the truth. He was wrecked. "I'm taking dibs on the shower and then I promise I'll lie down Fussy McFusserson."

As he dragged his body up the stairs the whole crap of the day hit him again, starting with the prospect of Dean being heartbroken if Castiel had to leave Palo Alto for work. He stripped on autopilot and stood under the hot water leaving it soak into his mane of thick hair and down his back. He placed a hand against the tiles to brace his body. The memory of doing just that in Nick's shower while his lover's hand snaked around from behind jerking him off made his cock twitch and fill. Nick liked to see him splayed on the sheets of his huge bed but in the shower he was more adaptable and took Sam from behind marking his hips with the finger shaped bruises that were only now fading from their last passionate morning under jets of hot running water. Tears began to run down Sam's face, the salty taste of them marring his lips. He didn't know what to do. He tried to suds up his hair with shampoo, but even the coconut scent of that reminded him of a Yankee Candle Nick had lit late one evening.

He could lose Nick. He could lose so much. His dreams, his future… His hand strayed down in a move he sensuously made for his own benefit many times, but before he reached his half hard cock, he stopped and spread his fingers across his belly below his navel.

"Hi there." He whispered. No-one was going to hear him in the shower, but it was too fragile a moment for anything other than a whisper. "Hey there Little Grapeseed."

He was talking to an embryo.

"I'm your Daddy."

Sam gulped. He was this tiny little proto-child's carrier-father. Him or her, his son or his daughter was a miracle. He wanted her. He couldn't imagine going to the clinic and having a termination. He couldn't parse the regret and loss that he would have to live with… He knew all about living with loss and it was Hell… Could he go from years of mourning his brother to a lifetime of wondering what this embryo would have been, who he or she would have grown up to be?

The baby was still barely more than a bundle of cells but Sam huffed under the running water as it spilled down his back. He couldn't terminate. And he knew that when it came to it he would never be able to relinquish his hold on his newborn child to give him or her up for adoption. He wondered if he was going to be raising her out of a trailer in Bobby's salvage yard, or watching his son grow with without his other father. He'd do his best to figure out if there was a way to stay in Stanford. There must be help for pregnant students. Maybe even if he lost his scholarship he'd be entitled to housing or be assisted with loan applications. Castiel had done it on his own without a scholarship. There was the other issue of how he would attend classes when he was as large as a small house, or if he was put on bed rest for hypertension, and what would he do when he had the baby? He hoped and wanted, and now he had come to the point where the bundle of cells inside him was his baby, he craved the love this new person would add to his small family. He imagined Dean with the baby, cooing over a bassinet and then blushing in denial when Sam would catch him. He was terrified to risk imagining Nick's arm around his waist in that fantasy nursery.

He cracked his head back against the tiles. His fingertips were getting wrinkled. It was time to get out of the shower. No matter what happened with Nick, he vowed that he was going to keep their baby.

He finished up. Wrapped in a bath sheet he made his way back to his room. He looked at his balled up PJ bottoms and white sleep tee, but it was too much effort. Kicking them out of his way, Sam lay sideways on top of his comforter, curled in the damp towel. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in and out. The thought rose that he was curved around his belly, instinctively protecting his little girl or boy from the world.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean called from outside the door. "You OK?"

It had gotten dark. The street lamplight poured over Dean's sketches on the wall. Sam must have slept. The towel was uncomfortable and his feet were cold.

"Nick is here." Dean opened the door a crack and called in, "He brought Lasagna and garlic bread, because you are sick."

Sam uncurled and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What will I tell him, Sam? Are you 'too sick'? Do you want to see him?"

Sam took a deep breath, "I'll come down."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++


	15. Fourteen

Sam took several deep and steadying breaths before he pulled on his sleepwear and robe. He yanked a pair of boot socks over his feet. Catching sight of his tangled damp hair in the mirror, he combed his fingers through the strands pushing it back off his face. He was meant to be sick not readying for his debut on the runway of fashion week. He scrubbed his hand over his chin, feeling stubble. He hadn't shaved that morning. If Nick didn't find the scruffier version of his boyfriend attractive there wasn't much that Sam could do about it at short notice.

"Come on Little Grapeseed," Sam dipped his head and added in a hushed tone, "Time to tell your other Daddy that you exist."

He was talking to the embryo again, maybe it was daft, a sign of losing it.

At the top of the stairs Sam paused. What if telling Nick now was the wrong choice? What if something was wrong with the pregnancy? What if he lost Nick then three or four weeks later he lost the baby? A little voice told him that if Nick walked, then he wasn't worth keeping. The doctor was sending him for an early scan because of Dean's ectopic miscarriage. He should go to the library and look up if such things ran in families. He could bet there were whole shelves devoted to male pregnancies, miscarriages, and teen pregnancies. Sam huffed, thinking he had only a week left of being a teenager. He was delaying, standing there as if waiting would change anything or make it any easier.

The intermingling of voices and the TV drifted up from the den. Dean stuck his head around the doorway and looked up at his paralyzed brother with concern. That got Sam moving, but each step was like a precipice. Dread chilled him and each inhalation caught in his tightening chest.

Stepping into the room Sam could see Sarah and Jessica lounging on the sofa. Dean hovered nervously. Andy waved a smoking roll-up from his spot on the bean bag. Nick was perched on the arm of the couch with one tan leather loafer raised off the floor, talking to Sarah. Sam's heart clenched with the sensation of his lover slipping away from him. He feasted on this snapshot view, the overhead light giving shine to Nick's hair and the fine thread of his grey Ralph Lauren suit. As if he sensed Sam's arrival he turned with a beaming smile that died on his lips.

"Oh my God, Sweetheart, you look awful. You shouldn't have got out of bed for me." Nick gasped and took the few strides to meet Sam.

Sam emitted a nervy titter at the contrast between his handsome put together lover and his own scruffy dreadful appearance. Warm hands on his waist pulled him close. Their foreheads knocked together lightly.

"Same air, if I had an infection you'd catch it," Sam quirked a smile and wove his hands behind Nick's neck, stealing an indulgent kiss before the storm.

"Get a room, dudes!" Andy shouted and then let out a chortling laugh.

"About that," Sam looked around as he attempted to draw apart but found Nick linking his arm, "Could you guys give us some privacy if we occupy the kitchen a spell?"

"You can have our room," Dean was quick to offer, shifting from one foot to the other, "I got my bonus day off tomorrow, don't need to hit the hay yet."

"I think I'd prefer a few minutes in the kitchen," Sam tried to give his brother an easy smile rather than the grimace he felt his face muscles contort into. There was a something about the private sanctuary of their bedroom that he didn't want to defile with the memory of a crushing break up.

"A few minutes?" Andy snorted, "You gay guys work fast."

"Not helping," Dean aimed a kick at the bulge of the bean bag.

"We're cool," Jessica stated.

"Cool," Sarah added, "And take your time."

"And save us some lasagna, I can feel imminent munchies," Andy tagged on.

Sam gave that comment an eye roll while Jessica asked Andy if that was his considered medical opinion. Taking Nick's hand, Sam guided him into the kitchen. He almost teared up when he saw the lasagna, garlic bread wrapped in aluminum foil to keep it warm, a takeout tub of green salad, a tall bottle of light beer, and a thin slice of Max's indulgent chocolate Genoise Cake.

"Shall I serve Sir?" Nick raised his brows with a soft smile.

"Please Nick. Please just sit here with me," Sam's choked up plea had Nick pulling out a chair for Sam. He took the next one so that their knees knocked together and he could hold both of Sam's hands in his.

Sam gulped.

"What is it? Did the doctor…? Oh God. Whatever it is we'll face it. I'll give you full medical from the restaurant. I can get my accountant to work it so the cover is backdated from the start of the year. Sam, what they say was wrong?" Nick's words tumbled out, colliding with each other but understandable to Sam.

"I…" Sam stared at their entwined hands. He squeezed, taking strength and holding on fiercely.

He wasn't going to cry. There would be no weeping sorrow. It wasn't in his plans to cry. A huge teardrop ran down his face and plopped onto his lap.

"Take your time," Nick's hushed words quivered with horror. Sam didn't want to imagine how much worse it could be.

"I… I mean. We…"

It was the hardest thing Sam had ever said in his life. Multiple times worse than braving John's wrath about coming to Stanford. Sam sniffled loudly and cleared his throat to make a third attempt.

"I'm pregnant."

Time stopped.

Sam was afraid to look up. He lifted his eyes. Nick was stunned into statue-like stillness. Sam was riveted in place, eyes fixed on Nick.

The encouraging touch on Sam's hands and fingers withdrew leaving a blank empty chill. Nick reached sideways, caught the beer and chugged down a good portion of the bottle.

"I need something stronger." His chest rose and fell in heaving sighs.

Sam jumped to find some liquor, anything to please and put off the nuclear blast wave he feared was coming. He tried to brace himself as he silently and shakily handed over somebody's fifth of Southern Comfort.

Nick winced as he downed a double shot. He repeated almost inaudibly, "Pregnant."

Sam retook the kitchen chair because if he didn't he might have fallen to the floor.

Nick was subdued. Sam wasn't sure what he expected. He'd feared an explosion, and hoped for joy, but hadn't imagined this shocked almost unresponsive reaction, as if Nick was trying to comprehend and translate the meaning of what Sam had said.

"Are you?" Nick stopped as if he was unable to complete the question. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and looked furtively from under his lids at Sam's belly, "What are your plans?"

Sam laughed hysterically. Nick gaped at him.

"Plans?" Sam choked, "like to graduate?"

Nick nodded and said with gravity, "I see."

Sam didn't know what he saw.

"I mean I understand," Nick said with deep sadness, "If that is your decision, I will respect it and you. It is your body and your choice."

"Whoa! Back up," Sam blurted, "What decision? I said nothing about any decision. I found out today that I am having our baby. Our baby, Nick."

"You are having our baby?" Nick's eyes opened wide and blue.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, dumbass, our baby."

"I thought…" Nick leaned forward so he could retake Sam's right hand, "Your education…your age… You'd want to terminate… And it is your body Sam, your choice, but I want us too, you and me and our baby."

"I want that too." Sam insisted with a germ of hope.

"I won't push you into keeping the baby." Nick said with obvious effort, "but I promise to be there for you both, and I want you to have our child."

"I want that too." Sam repeated, filing to the brim with emotion. For a moment, it had been as if they were shattering, as if they were on two ice floes drifting apart, "I want it. I want us."

By some magic, Sam knew he had said the perfect thing, because Nick melted and relief flooded Sam.

"You want us?" Nick checked, with the disbelief of a man previously badly burned.

Sam simply nodded. "You and the grapeseed."

"The grapeseed?" Nick grinned.

"Yeah, he or she is only about the size of a tiny little seed." Sam took Nick's hand and drew it to his tummy.

"Our little bitty Apple Pip." Nick smirked.

"Grapeseed." Sam corrected with a nasal huff of amusement. "That night, the condom split…"

Nick smiled at the memory, making Sam relive that wonderful night. He was suddenly glad that their child had been conceived on such a perfect date.

Nick came around to pull Sam's head into his body in a kind of awkward but amazingly comforting hug. Sam wasn't sure who let out a few sobs first.

"I thought…" Sam said when his speech capabilities returned, "You said you wanted kids but not now…"

"Sam," Nick put two fingers under Sam's chin and titled his head so their eyes could meet, "You have made me the happiest man on God's green Earth."

Sam's shoulders hitched in a self-depreciating laugh at the exaggeration.

"Are you happy?" Nick asked.

"I'm in a state of prolonged shock," Sam answered honestly, "Dean came to the doctor with me, and I totally freaked him out when I enquired about terminations, but then I came home and I had time to process, I suppose. This baby is made of you and me."

Nick's smile broke out again, "Yours and mine."

Sam leaned into Nick's side, "And I couldn't bear to think about ending it any longer. I had decided one thing, no matter how difficult it would be without you, I'm keeping my little guy or girl."

Nick kissed his hair.

"But you know. It's not going to be easy for me," Sam huffed, "My Dad, he really did a number on me and Dean. I don't want to be a freak."

Nick dropped to his knees and wiped away the trail of tears, "Shush, my love, shhh-hush. You are not going to be a freak. You are going to be radiant and fabulous bearing our child."

"Covered in puke, with swollen ankles, and leaking nipples, and mood swings," Sam snorted.

"Yes, wonderful and magnificent," Nick kissed his cheek. "Did you think I would think…were you worried I'd think that the baby wasn't mine?"

"What No Way." That particular worry had not crossed Sam's mind.

"There was no need to doubt my love," Nick sighed, "My sweetheart."

"I didn't Nick." Sam insisted, edging forward, "I just didn't know what to think or do… I had high blood pressure at the physician's."

"You are so brave, darling." Nick swallowed as if overcome, "Are they concerned about your blood pressure?"

"I'm not brave, and I need to go back next week for another reading, to see if it is a problem."

"Can I come with you?" Nick asked softly.

"I'd like that. The doctor asked about you, medically I mean. But I didn't know. I was so confused. I didn't know how I was going to tell you." Sam gulped air and tried to stem his racing heart.

"I am so happy you told me. So happy we are pregnant," Nick helped Sam up and hugged him tight. Sam fell into the embrace letting go of all that fear he had built up about sharing his news.

"Thank you." Sam whispered.

Nick huffed with an amused body shudder which transmitted to Sam. "Why are you thanking me?"

"For not freaking out, for not breaking up with me?" Sam said in a small voice into the air over Nick's shoulder.

"The carrier daddy of our baby. My handsome lover, my friend, I want you. Do you hear me? I'll keep saying it until you believe me. You are the one, Sam."

Sam wasn't sure he could have faith in that assertion yet, but he could work on it. He knew he wanted this. Wanted to be a family with Nick and their child, but he couldn't quite believe that he was important enough, special enough to be the only one, the forever one for Nick. He closed his eyes and let his partner hold him, drawing his love through their joined bodies and letting it sooth him. He could have stayed there all night, tucked together.

In the end they shared the cake and a can of ginger ale divided into two of the mugs Dean had bought. Nick topped his drink up with more Southern Comfort but Sam didn't judge his need for a drink.

Nick raised his cup "To our family."

Sam drank to that. He reached over with his fingertip and wiped a smudge of chocolate from Nick's upper lip, which led to a tender sweet kiss, before Andy banged on the door claiming he was in dire need of edibles.

"They know nothing," Sam warned.

Nick nodded his understanding.

"I'm not ready to share yet." Sam added.

"Of course," Nick rose to let Andy in, "Just you, me and Dean, yes? It's a family matter."

"It is." Sam nodded with smile, glad Dean had been automatically included in Nick's words.

While Andy raided the uneaten food, Sam saw Nick to the door. With a promise to call the next day, an instruction not to try and come to work in the morning , and a squeezed hand Nick departed after a final embrace.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam spent the weekend taking the doctor's advice and trying to de-stress. He went to the park with Dean and watched him sketch. He went to the new Adam Sandler movie for comedy therapy with Nick, and helped Jess to take down her posters and pack her books into boxes.

On Monday night he went to work. Nick tried to send him home but Sam pulled out his notepad and took the order from a table of four. When custom died down, Nick poured him a spray hose soda and installed him at the end of the bar. Almost shyly he produced a fax from his accountant confirming Sam had the gold standard of employee medical cover.

Sam's days were as full as usual. He spent a little while between classes in the Lane Medical Library cramming knowledge into his brain. Seeing the printed word and reading up on everything that he might need to know helped him to adjust to his new reality. He didn't avoid the scary facts but took comfort in the accounts of normal pregnancies and deliveries.

Sam kept to his class schedule almost on autopilot, his mind drifting to his Little Grapeseed as if there was a psychic magnetic connection between them already. When he read back his Anthropology of Ancient Crete notes, it was like he was learning about Knossos for the first time. Dean was doing his best to be supportive in an unobtrusive manner, making sure he ate and doing their combined laundry.

On Thursday morning Sam met up with his classmate Madison who was also declaring anthropology as her major. Using a tall mocha as bribery, he explained that he had a medical appointment later and she kindly volunteered not only her notes but copies of the articles she had Xeroxed for their Advanced Genetics and Evolution essay. He promised to return the favor when she needed, hoping privately that he would be in the position to do so.

Nick's Lexus pulled up well before the appointment. Dean chuckled and nudged Sam as they saw Nick emerge from their position at the bedroom window.

Flanked on either side entering Stanford Medical Clinic, Sam felt like Leonardo Di Caprio with the air stewardesses in Catch Me If You Can. Only Sam wasn't an identity thief and Leonardo hadn't been pregnant.

Dean was happy to sit in the waiting area perusing the National Geographic article on Snowy Owls that Nick had dived into before they were called. Sam appreciated that his brother had come at all, after the traumatic first visit. He took his seat opposite Dr Grainger but Nick remained standing to lean over the desk and surprise the physician by shaking her hand firmly. Sam imagined that was how Nick would get a business meeting started.

"Nick Alighieri. I'm Sam's partner."

"Very pleased to meet you." The doctor nodded.

When Nick was seated, she commenced a litany of questions. Sam answered that he wasn't vomiting, still had nausea, had eaten, taken his vitamins, had only a couple of mild band-tightening headaches, hadn't been breathless nor sweaty. When she explained that edema meant swelling, Sam was able to confirm he hadn't that either.

"Good," Dr Grainger smiled as she ticked a final box on her sheet, "Your bloods are back. You are not anemic and your blood count was healthy. Let's check your blood pressure. Can you remove your jacket?"

Sam took off his brown hoodie, leaving his plaid shirt and tee on. He asked in surprise, "Don't you want me on the table?"

"Not today," She smiled kindly as she wrapped the pressure cuff around his upper arm.

Sam tried his best to stay calm. Nick's hand pressed his knee.

"Nick, may I ask you a few questions?" She asked while she took the reading.

"Go ahead," Nick answered but didn't remove his hand.

"Any family history of genetic disorders, pregnancy issues, multiple births?"

Sam let out a miniscule squeak at the last item on the list.

Nick chuckled before answering in the negative.

"What age are you?" The doctor asked as she removed the cuff. When Nick bristled she added, "For the condition of your sperm."

"Ah, 37." Nick answered.

"146 over 86, Sam." The doctor frowned. "That's not good, I'm afraid. Still elevated. You will have to take things easy. Have you been?"

"I didn't work last Friday or Saturday but I did on Monday." Sam licked his lips. He could see Nick's intense stare as he listened.

"And classes?"

"I haven't missed a class until today." Sam said with a touch of defiance.

"I am not telling you to skip class or not to go to work, if you feel well enough and comfortable to do so. I am telling you as your physician that you need to avoid stress and stressful situations. Literally put your feet up when you get the chance. Your hypertension is mild but it is elevated."

"Kind of hard not to be stressed," Sam mumbled.

The doctor nodded, "Unplanned pregnancy and stress go hand in hand. Have you thought any further about your options Sam?"

Nick's hand exerted supportive pressure on his thigh.

Sam looked her in the eye, "We are keeping the baby."

She smiled, "Let me offer the congratulations delayed from our first visit. Okay, in that case I'd like to get a handle on your chronic hypertension. I'm going to fit you with a portable blood pressure monitor for the next 24 hours to eliminate White Coat Syndrome."

Sam's eyes widened at the strange term.

"Some patients' pressure spikes from the stress of seeing a doctor." She explained and handed him a folded over A4 tabular sheet. "I want you to fill out this sheet while you are wearing it, detailing any symptoms, for instance pain, dizziness, fatigue, and when you eat, drink, sleep, exercise or engage in sexual activity."

Sam blushed. Nick winked at him making him blush harder. Sam was distracted when Doctor Grainger rose to get the portable monitor. She had him remove his shirt and watch, then she strapped the smaller band around his upper arm. A tube ran down from it to his wrist where a large watch-like strap recorded the readings.

"No getting it wet, no removing it to wash, and it may pinch as it inflates," She instructed. "When you come in tomorrow, we should have a clearer picture. If you do have mild hypertension I will be recommending a low salt diet, sleeping in a left lateral position, and some relaxation techniques for you, but today I want you to act normally."

Dean jumped to his feet when they emerged, wrinkling his brow at the monitor and how Sam was carrying his shirt and hoodie. Nick explained about the monitoring on their way to the car. Sam concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Inside the Lexus, Nick made to insert the key into the ignition but Sam's hand stayed him.

"I'm freaking out." Sam huffed.

"Sammy?" Dean asked urgently from the back seat.

Nick's forehead creased and he rubbed Sam's arm in between the two straps.

"I've gotta wear this thing and act normal," He emitted a high pitched hysterical laugh, "Normal? Fuck."

"I think you'll find you mean Fuck Normal." Dean tried to joke.

"They'll all want to know why I've gotta wear it." Sam hissed thinking of having to lie and evade his housemates.

"I thought you told your friends about the blood pressure," Nick said calmly.

"But Jess's send off is tonight. Just a few guys and sorority chicks, for like drinks and crap, but I can't drink now can I?" Sam sighed, looked at Dean in the rear view mirror, and continued, "'bout tomorrow, Dean, I know about the invites to come around our place and the massive bags of chips stuffed everywhere were a dead giveaway."

"It's a casual thing, not a birthday party," Dean protested, "Brady and Jess organized it."

"I sound like an old party popper but I don't want that. I don't want to have to worry that it will turn into the house party to end all house parties. I don't want to have to clean up the Lacrosse team's vomit from the carpets. I don't want to have a pitcher of beer shoved in my hand and have a chant start for me to chug it down." Sam knew he was getting worked up but he needed to get it off his chest, "And I'm not ungrateful to the guys, to you Dean, but I…"

"We didn't invite half of Stanford and you can tell 'em you're on meds that can't mix with alcohol," Dean suggested.

"You've haven't been at a full on party yet, Dee," Sam hung his head, "Andy and Ash might bring 'gifts'. And then Sarah's Scott got us all tickets to the National Rugby Final matches and Brady's stewarding and expects us to go. And Jess wants us at the Cinquo de Mayo party at Greek House, and God, if I wasn't… I mean if things were normal, I'd be into all of it, but I'm too tired, too worried, and I've got a frickin monitor on me like a freaking criminal on probation."

Dean snorted.

"Oh, yeah, you can laugh, you're not the stinky one not permitted to shower."

Nick grinned then too.

"Stop laughing at the pregnant man," Sam poked his partner in the arm.

"I'm sorry," Nick said mid laughter, "You are so cute when you are moody."

"Who's moody?" Sam shot back but with a smile.

"Come home with me," Nick urged, "Stay at mine."

"What?" Sam breathed and looked back at Dean.

Nick turned in his seat, "If it is alright with you Dean, and you are welcome to come too."

"Naw. It's cool. I was gonna duck out of Jess's send off early. Cas is driving back from his interview at Fresno High. We're going to see the late show of Phone Booth." Dean quirked his lips, "And I'm staying over with Cas because I have work tomorrow."

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, you'll get tons of sleep."

"I sure will. Cas has classes tomorrow too." Dean said with a defiant pout.

"So, Sam, will you come?" Nick asked again, "I'll drop you back tomorrow for your classes, come take you to the clinic, and later we can do a takeout Birthday feast. No work tomorrow and we'll hold it early? Your housemates are welcome to come, and anyone else you want there. Maybe your man would like to be there, Dean? Stay with me for the weekend, what do you say Sam?"

"Would you mind Dean?" Sam asked. He thought Dean might have planned to spend their free time together for his birthday, but no matter where he slept Sam still had classes and his new doctor's appointment.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dean leaned into the space between the front seats, "Better than staying here. Jess was gonna bake a cake, but if you are leaving the 'pala here then I can give Brady and Cas a ride, and Jess could bring Sarah and the cake. What do you want to do Sam?"

The emotional rollercoaster was swinging again. Sam gulped air, "I want to go home with Nick. But I don't want you or the guys to miss my birthday."

Nick leaned over for a chaste kiss and finally got the car started.

"Sorted." Dean pronounced, "Can you guys drop me at the house?"

"Of course," Nick said as he pulled into traffic.

"I need to pack a bag," Sam added, "You sure you're OK, Dean?"

"Peachy," Dean eye rolled, "Samantha Princess of Fussy-land. Cas and I will be chillin'"

"Chilling? Seriously?" Sam snorted.

"Hey I'm chilled."

Sam harrumphed but his brother had convinced him that he was cool with the change of plan.

They dropped Dean and called in to The Gates of Hell, so that Nick could check that all would run fine in his absence. Nick raided a savory fish pie from the chill room for their evening meal and they headed home to Moss Beach.

An hour later under the warm evening sun and with the ozone sea air filling his lungs Sam leaned back into the cushioned bench seat. They were in partial shade on the terrace under the upper storey balcony of Nick's home. Sam had found an old white wide sleeved poplin shirt of Nick's and was wearing it over the monitor with the sleeves rolled back to mid forearm and the top buttons open. Nick slipped his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"Our little Bean." Nick directed his words at Sam's belly, "We are going to love you so much."

Sam bit down on his lip. The blood pressure cuff chose that minute to inflate and thankfully distract him from another fit of weepiness.

"I don't want you to be stressed about anything, Sam," Nick's earnest gaze met Sam's eyes, "Any problems, we will face them together and we'll find the solution."

All Sam's problems seemed monstrous. He didn't know where to start. He took a deep breath. "More huge looming storm clouds than little bumps."

Nick half smiled, "Well, let's break 'em down to rain drops and I'll deploy the umbrella."

Sam laughed in spite of the heavy topic, imagining Nick chasing after him in a downpour with an open umbrella.

"Hit me," Nick said and pursed his lips in readiness.

"What?"

"Hit me with a cloud."

"That sounds ridiculous," Sam huffed, his humor rising.

"Come on Thor, hammer me." Nick grinned.

"I am no Thor." Sam ducked his eyes.

"Zeus, then, my handsome Greek God, after all Zeus gave birth to Athena." Nick suggested his fantasy in a reasonable tone.

"I think you will find that she sprung from his head," Sam chuckled.

"Head Smead," Nick wrinkled his nose.

"OK," Sam conceded when he had finished a silent upper body shaking laugh, "My degree, my grade average, my scholarship…"

"Okkkaay, I see three separate issues. Firstly I will do everything in my power to make sure you graduate. I don't know if you'll want to defer a semester or take a period of reduced classes…"

"My scholarship, I can't," Sam choked out.

Nick grabbed his hand, "Listen, my love, you can't be discriminated against for your pregnancy. Remember Luther, the gender rights lawyer, I bet he'd love to take a case, but I bet even more that Stanford has a way to offer aid and assistance to pregnant students, and yeah, maybe you won't be able to meet the terms of your specific scholarship, but we'll sort it out. If you want I'll come with you to the campus financial assistance people, your dean of students, whoever, and if you need to take out a loan…"

"I already have a small loan, and that was a bitch to get without parental backing."

"Sam," Nick said with slight admonishment to pull Sam's attention to him, "If you need a more substantial loan, then I can go guarantor. I've told you that there are no loans on my business. If I can't use my money to underwrite my partner's career, my child's other Daddy's education, then what use is it?"

"I couldn't ask," Sam gulped.

"You didn't. I offered. If it comes to that, then there won't be an issue." Nick snuggled in closer. "I'll take payment in kisses."

"Will you?" Sam huffed.

"I will," Nick cupped his cheek and kissed the corner of his lips. Sam opened up and they met in a delicious soft exploration of lips and tongue. He closed his eyes and let the kiss linger. Nick's hands moved under the old shirt pressing and almost holding Sam together. Nick moved to nibble at Sam's jaw and suck a renewing mark over a fading hickey near his collar bone. Sam let out a moan of pleasure and ran his fingers through Nick's hair.

"I need to note this," He muttered.

"This is kissing, not sex," Nick protested between rapid kisses to Sam's neck.

Sam teased, "Feels like."

Nick grinned and began to open the few closed shirt buttons, "Do you have to write it down if I do this?"

Sam said nothing, fascinated at every move of Nick's fingers as he undid the button of Sam's jeans.

"Or this?"

Sam shook his head, panting over uncoiling desire as Nick's hand slid down and carefully freed his hardening cock.

"Or this?" Nick smirked before taking the tip between his lips and wrapping his hand around Sam's length.

Gasping, "Oh Nick, Oh God, more." Sam lost it. He didn't last long. Not as long as he wanted, but the heat of Nick's mouth and the flick of his tongue was too much. He strained forward. Nick pulled off and gave a last few talented jerks with pressed in fingertips. Sam shuddered as he came. Nick seemed to climb up his body to join their lips for another lengthy embrace.

"I ruined your shirt," Sam giggled. "You should have stopped, you know?"

"Really?" Nick chuffed as he retook his spot and let Sam curl under his arm.

"I'm not writing the doctor a porno diary." Sam gave a fake pout, "And I'm filthy."

Nick stroked his hair and murmured, "I'll run us a nice hot bath soon."

"Promise?" Sam asked, body languid and sated, only briefly considering that his arm would have to stay dry and that the bath would have to be marked on the sheet too.

++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Standing in Nick's arms waiting for the rest of their food order to arrive, Sam commented, "Thought no longer being a teenager would be sort of momentous or something."

"Your brother seems to think it is," Nick laughed as the delivery van pulled into the plot.

Dean had brought the poignant sketch of them as children, that Sam had first touched in Dean's room in Arkansas. It had been professionally framed and formed part of Sam's birthday gift along with a new mechanic's tool set for the Impala, which Sam suspected actually meant Dean was giving him the gift of servicing the engine.

It was easy to slip into a feeling of being comfortable in the shelter of Nick's embrace. Sam watched as Nick took the paper bags from the delivery girl and paid her with a decent tip for being early. It was those little generous touches that made his affections bloom further. Like earlier when Nick had kept hold of his hand at the medical clinic. Sam's hypertension was blessedly on the mild end of the spectrum but it would have to be monitored and watched closely during his pregnancy. Dr Grainger had been pleased that they could avoid medicating his condition but tagged on her repeated anti-stress warnings.

They had come home in buoyant mood. Sam had showered while Nick tidied up for their guests and set his stack of Rat Pack CDs to play.

Sam was on the terrace when Dean arrived in a blaze of Impala engine and AC/DC with Castiel, Brady and Jessica, bearing a large party cake with twenty lit sparklers. The others had sent their best wishes. Sam knew they hadn't bailed, rather they had been considerate enough to respect his wish to keep it low key. Sarah was up to her eyeballs helping her rugby fly-half boyfriend with the influx of other college teams but had sought out Sam at Stanford that morning and given him a new Cardinals sweatshirt. It was perfect for hiding an early baby bump but Sam had left that reason for being pleased unsaid.

Dean and Castiel spread all the cutlery, napkins and seasonings for their Thai choices on the coffee tables, while Castiel grouched about how the Fresno School Board didn't like him. Dean nodded sympathetically but Sam knew his brother was glad Castiel wouldn't be moving a few hours away. Nick and Brady turned the recliner by the window, the squishy armchair and the fireside two-seater so that they faced each other. Jess had taken over Nick's spacious kitchen and was slicing strawberries and whisking cream for their cake-dessert. Brady took station behind Nick's corner bar, bravely staying put when Nick threatened his manhood if he broke anything.

When she joined them in the family room, Jessica cornered Sam about his health. He felt uncomfortable lying to her about fictional pills that prevented him from partaking of alcohol, but he wanted to keep knowledge of the precious new life he was carrying strictly between him, Dean and Nick for a while longer.

With his mouth and belly pleasantly full of Pad Thai and stolen bites of Nick's Massuman curry, Sam was content to listen in as they all compared hometowns in some sort of contorted competition to see whose was lamest or best depending on the turn of their conversation. There seemed to be some consensus that Castiel had the most soybean producing and the most obscure hometown between Pontiac and Peoria. Brady was not permitted to claim the whole metropolis of Chicago so grudgingly narrowed his home place down to Forest Glen. Dean surprised Sam by promoting Lawrence, seeing as they hadn't lived there since he was four. Jessica and Nick had a rapid fire debate about the community spirit in Montpelier versus Ilchester, until Nick conceded that he had lived more of his life in California than any other state.

"So have I," Sam commented lazily.

"Huh?" Dean asked from his spot on the two-seater with Cas.

"Add together that half year we spent living in the trailer behind Jefferson's Auto, my last year of high school in Irwindale, and almost two years in Palo Alto. Even Sioux Falls doesn't tally up as far," Sam reasoned out.

"Geez Sam, that makes me an Arkie," Dean grumbled.

Sam grinned, glad Dean could joke about his enforced residence in The Ozarks. His cell began to vibrate towards Nick's glass of Johnnie Walker Blue. He flicked it open suspecting a wasted Andy, Ash and Tracy greeting but Bobby's name lit up the screen. He pushed it towards Dean so he could see, before excusing himself to take the call.

"Hey Bobby," Sam grinned as he headed to the kitchen.

"Guess it's your birthday," Bobby greeted.

"Thanks," Sam interpreted that as a Bobbyism for Happy Birthday.

"Sent ya one of those belts my friend Rufus makes, y'know the ones you like."

"Thanks Bobby. I didn't get it yet but thanks," Sam smiled privately thinking that it was years ago when he'd admired Bobby's leatherworker friend's craftsmanship, but he'd cheer when he finally got his hands on an example of Rufus's work, although his waistline was about to go into hyperspace expansion. He wondered if he should tell Bobby.

"Are you listening to a damn word I said?"

"Hmm, no, sorry?" Sam winced.

"You with people Sam?" Bobby asked.

"I'm at my boyfriend's place with Dean and the guys." Sam answered glad to be on safer territory.

"I'll keep it short then, call me when you get a chance, and catch me up on how you and Dean are. You are both OK, aren't you, son?"

Sam's breath caught. He gripped the cell tight, "Bobby, I'm having a baby."

"One second there Sam. I think I need to get my ears cleaned out because I thought you said you're pregnant."

Sam chewed on his lip, "Uh-huh, yeah."

"Darn it boy, how are you going to keep that a secret from your Daddy?" Bobby sighed loudly.

"He's out of the picture, Uncle Bobby." Sam thinned his lips and said bitterly, "He's not welcome here."

"Shucks, boy. You want to have this baby?"

"I do," Sam said softly, "Nick and I, we were surprised. Hell, we were shocked, but yeah, we want him or her."

"OK then. I'm gonna have to meet this Nick person. Tell him I'll take it out of his hide if he hurts you." Bobby growled.

Sam leaned against the pantry door and let Bobby's gruff concern raise his spirits.

"I'll try to talk your Daddy outta any notion he gets about heading your way." Bobby promised.

"You seen him?" Sam asked.

"He breezed through here after the Elkins job on his way to Minnesota. Wanted a bag of tools he'd left in the shop." Bobby huffed, "Told him you were doing good but the old fool only gave me a grumble about your buttheadness for taking Dean out of the hospital."

"Dickass." Sam spat.

"He sure is." Bobby agreed. "Well I suppose I'd better get looking for baby mechanic overalls."

Sam snorted, "That'll be for Dean's babies."

"He still with his teacher boyfriend?"

"Yeah, they are here."

"Good. Don't forget I'm here if you need anything." Bobby added.

Sam thanked him again before they ended the call. Coming back from the kitchen, Sam met Dean at the bottom of the stairs.

"Bobby gone?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam winced guiltily and held out his cell, "Sorry, I didn't think. You wanna call him back?"

"It's fine," Dean nodded, "Is he good?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, "I told him."

"You did?" Dean inclined his head and turned out his bottom lip thoughtfully, but he didn't seem too shocked.

"He's cool." Sam added.

"Knew he would be." Dean nodded.

"Oh yeah?" Sam checked. There had been trepidation as Sam had blurted his news to their surrogate uncle, but deep down Sam had known that Bobby was a rock of support for both brothers.

Sam gave a sigh of tension release. Dean gave him an assessing look. Sam smiled, "Are you OK Dee?"

"Me? I'm good." Dean claimed.

"I know this must be hard for you, y'know, bringing back memories," Sam tried to draw him out.

"No Sammy. I'm happy for you," Dean insisted with his jaw tight.

Sam could see the deft avoidance of his reference to how the pregnancy was affecting Dean, but he wasn't going to probe here and now. Instead he tried to transmit his deep abiding love for his big brother in a few words said with feeling, "I'm happy you are here Dean."

Dean ducked his head at the transmitted emotion. He looked at his boots as he confided, "You know I used to think of you all day on May 2nd?"

Sam caught his sleeve and tugged on the material until Dean permitted a back patting hug. "I'd wish you were with me every year."

"It's alright Sam. I'm happy I'm here too." Dean squeezed his arms around Sam, "Happy Birthday Sammy."

The void that had carved into Sam's soul at twelve years old had been repairing and filling since he had re-found his brother. The hug, which tightened to bone crushing, seemed to seal over any ragged edges of those old hard times. In that moment Sam felt that no matter what shit rained down on them, they'd face it and win.

++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Author's Note

I'd hoped to post sooner but RL was rocky this week. Couldn't get in the headspace for writing until midweek. I am happy with the chapter but I hope it reads well for you all.

Next chapter will be Dean's POV.


	16. Fifteen

*Show is killing me with angst but I knew instinctively that Lil'Sam would want to be Batman or Bat-Sam*

+++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++

"You haven't spoken yet Dean." Victor commented patiently, "There are ten minutes gone."

Dean nodded almost imperceptibly to show that he was listening. He hugged his knees tighter. The photograph was burning a hole in his pocket. He slipped his left hand up over his wrist so he could grip his leather cuff tightly.

"Dean?"

Moistening his lips Dean focused on the faded denim covering his kneecaps, "I'm not supposed to say."

That got Victor jerking upright in his chair, "You can say anything within these four walls, confidentially and privately."

"I know." Dean whispered.

"Do you want to write it down? Would that help?" Victor offered.

Dean shook his head. He let down his legs and poked into his pocket. The grainy black and white ultrasound picture of his niece or nephew came out face up between his fingers.

He passed it to Victor.

"Sam isn't telling people." Dean bit his lip. "He's having Nick's baby."

Victor raised his brows.

"It was a surprise." Dean let out a nervous laugh, "I was kinda shocked. Couldn't tell you last time, because I was… I dunno… crossing every digit that Sam wouldn't change his mind and want to get rid of it, because I'd have been there for him, but it would have been too hard… too close."

"They are sure that they're keeping the baby?" Victor checked.

"Sam's calling it The Grape now. They could see the heartbeat jumping on the screen at the scan."

"What do you feel about becoming an Uncle?"

"I'm cool. I mean it's cool. Uncle Dean," He tried the words out for size liking how they felt on his tongue.

"How is Sam? Are you concerned?" Victor asked carefully.

"He was hacking chunks of food into the porcelain bowl this morning," Dean ran a hand over his own mouth in an unconsciously empathetic move, "He spewed in the Impala yesterday. Morning sickness has kinda wacked him over the head in the last couple of weeks. I'm trying to cook stuff he'll like, but who wants green olives on everything?"

Victor smiled, "So he's got an olive craving?"

"He says The Grape wants them and if Nick is there they do this sly eye-smile sharing. I know something went down with olives when they did the deed but I'm not asking, y'know." Dean cocked an eyebrow at his psychiatrist.

"So things are good, but you must have worries about it, otherwise wouldn't you have been bursting in here with the good news?"

"Naw, Man, like I said. Sam isn't telling people, though the dudes at the house are nearly wearing freaking Michael Jackson germ-masks in case they catch Sam's lingering gastro flu. I saw him putting on his baggy sweatshirt. He isn't all gym ribbed and abs anymore. He's gonna have to tell soon." Dean paused with a sigh. "The doctors are keeping an eye on Sam's blood pressure 'cause it's dipping up and down from normal to too high, and he thought the doctor at the scan treated him like a medical anomaly so Nick's taking him to a new one, and there's all the stuff hanging over him, like how he'll do college in the Fall when he's in his last trimester."

Victor hummed. He prompted, "But there is something else?"

"They say he is at 10 weeks. They were able to work it out because Nick and Sam are sure of the_ fertilization date_." Dean took a shuddering breath, "I was ten or eleven weeks when I lost my baby."

"Are you worried that will happen to Sam?"

"Not really," Dean looked up, "You see the picture. The little thing is snug as a bug, not trapped in a funky old tube. Sam's body did a bang up job."

Victor was quick to ask, "Do you think the miscarriage was your fault?"

"Well it was my body wasn't it? And I didn't exactly take good care of it." Dean huffed, "I drank liquor, I went without food, and when I found out, I panicked and didn't go to clinic. When I was cramping I keep going."

"You were seventeen and alone."

"I was carrying a child, and I failed them." Dean hung his head.

"No Dean you didn't." Victor spoke clearly, "There was nothing that could have been done."

"How can you know? Maybe I could have saved my… my…" Dean's breath shuddered and his voice dried up.

"Dean, I graduated with a medical degree before I specialized in psychiatry and I can tell you, that you did nothing wrong. Ectopic pregnancies and miscarriages happen, and sadly these losses are not preventable. It was this time of year wasn't it?"

Dean gulped, "A couple weeks ago, right after Sam's birthday," He scrubbed his running nose with the back of his hand, adding softly "Seven years ago."

"It's alright to remember, you know, and to talk about your loss."

Dean nodded because Victor expected it, but he didn't feel like it was alright. It felt like burning barbed pokers were driven through his heart, making him remember not only the lost scrap of life but the years of hell that followed.

Victor seemed to sense that he had probed enough and asked, "Last time you told me about Jessica Moore moving into the sorority house. Have you and Sam sorted out your summer living arrangements?"

"Way to go from one freak out subject to another Doc." Dean huffed.

"So I take it you can't stay in Cowper Street?"

Dean twisted his fingers together. "I like it there. I like our room. Spider likes the windowsill. I see Cas coming and going when I sit there." He sighed, "Brady's been recalled by his father to work at his firm. Sam says Brady's Dad is a nice guy but he has plans for his son. Brady says he'll probably be stuck in the mailroom and he wants to share again in The Fall. Sarah was all shady for a few days until she came and announced that she and Scott have exchanged promise rings and will live together when they re-unite. Sam got all dopey and weepy. I blame the hormones. And then Andy…" Dean couldn't suppress a laugh, "His mother turned up unexpectedly and caught him mid-bong. He is moving back into dorms next year, because we all corrupted him according to Mommie Dearest."

"That means you are not keeping the lease?"

Dean uh-huhed. "We've gotta move out end of next month. Sam says there'll be plenty of rentals vacant as anyone not taking summer classes will be gone, but," Dean's chest heaved, "We'll need somewhere baby-friendly, and Brady friendly."

Victor laughed at Dean's lame joke. "I'm sure Sam is a capable lodgings hunter after all he found your current residence."

"Yeah, it's another change, y'know."

Victor leaned forward, like he did when he was about to say something profound or Dean had surprised him, "I have seen that you have great tenacity and resilience in dealing with issues as they arise. You need to have more faith in your own ability to deal. I'm sure that will come with time but I get the feeling there is more on your mind."

"Cas got called back by two schools." Dean pinched the hem of his black tee between his fingers.

"From your subdued tone I take it they aren't in the locality."

Dean shook his head, "Shoreline Unified District and The Kershel Academy. He likes 'em both. But they're not close. I don't want him to go. I won't want him to leave me, everyone leaves me."

"Pardon?"

"Dad left me, and I know Sammy didn't but it took years for him to find me. Caleb dumped my deranged ass," Dean snorted. Victor opened his mouth to presumably ask Dean not to make self-depreciating comments, but Dean continued, "I'm sure your head shrinking is going at warp speed and you're adding my Mom's death and the baby onto the list."

"Sam hasn't left you," Victor pointed out, "and many times people left your young lives because you moved on to another city."

"Like Aaron, like the guys back at ACIC, yeah. I get it. Life marches on. I guess the house breaking up is ripping into me more than I thought." Dean took a beat, "I kinda put my foot in it with Sammy."

"You did?" Victor prompted when Dean didn't add more.

"I said we could ask Garth for help with the house search, 'cause he'd have to help me, wouldn't he and Sam's pregnant?"

"That is true." Victor nodded, "You may both be entitled to assistance with housing."

"Sam freaked. He said the CPS weren't getting anywhere near his baby, and that he didn't need a fucking social worker, and I should keep my _bright_ ideas to myself." Dean flushed as he relived Sam's vitriol and his later emotional apology, "And he's right. It was a dumb thing to say."

"Maybe you could have been more tactful or chosen your moment better. But it was a legitimate suggestion, Dean."

Dean checked that Victor wasn't soft soaping him, but the psychiatrist's gaze was genuine.

"Does your brother find it difficult to accept help?"

Dean thought for a minute. "I suppose. I've been in the fricking system so long that I'd forgotten how petrified we were of social workers and the CPS catching up with us and splitting us apart. I figure Sam thinks they'd appoint a case worker to his baby. But I didn't tell Garth that Sammy is pregnant. I asked him about help for single fathers and then had to almost pee on a stick to convince him that I wasn't pregnant."

Victor cocked a sideways smile, "Sounds like you got tangled up in knots."

Dean huffed and tightened his jaw ruefully, "Then Balthazar offered to put us up at his house, if we have nowhere or there is a delay between leases, and even said he would be fine if we needed to stay there until Brady comes back and we link up with other students. But then I sleep with Cas and Sam gets their sofa, which isn't going to work, with a baby on the way."

"So is there a solution?"

"If Sam tells Nick…" Dean stopped, "I want Sam to tell Nick. I bet Nick will ask us to live at his place. But maybe Sam wants to be independent, or he wants to focus on his summer exams, or it's a stubborn thing about not imposing on Nick, but I know Nick would want him there."

"Do you fear Sam will have as much pressure and stress for these exams?"

Dean twisted his lip, "He did good at the midterms, I dunno know. I hope not."

"How about you pick a good time and suggest to Sam that he might tell Nick what is happening? You could say that Nick might hear of upcoming rentals from customers at his restaurant."

"That's genius. I'll do that." Dean decided he'd try to do it before Nick accompanied Sam to his new obstetrician appointment and Sam entered the final cramming stage for the end of year exams.

"We have a few minutes left. Do you have anything from your journal that you want to raise? Anything else you'd like to bring up?"

Dean sucked in his lips and bit down. He looked at his boots as he said, "Wanna quit work but then everything with be all messed up and like in flux, and I'll have nothing to hold onto…"

"Slow down Dean," Victor urged. "Take a breath."

Dean did as instructed and waited for a question.

"OK. Why do you want to quit Greengoods? I was under the impression that things had improved." Victor twirled his pen between his fingers while Dean got his thoughts together.

"I fucking hate the place," Dean bit the inside of his cheek, "I don't hate the guys, but…" He sighed, "Sometimes I want to yell 'fuck off and leave me alone'. It's partially my deal, y'know. Take finishing time, Zach, who is a big bag of dicks on a good day, has this new thing because some of the crew were hanging around the clocking machine before they were due to go home. So now Mitchell has to make sure we are working on the floor until seconds to go, and King Dickhead patrols it."

"And were you one of the people pulled up for waiting to clock out?"

"No," Dean said quickly, "But ya see before when I finished my cage, pallet, whatever and there wasn't enough time to bring a whole other one out from the warehouse, then I'd tidy around or check if the warehouse guys needed help. But now we have to run another roll cage."

Victor nodded but Dean could see he would have to explain why that was an issue.

"It's like when I'm given a job to do, I see it through, yeah?" Dean puffed a breath, "I don't do things by halves, so I'll pack it all out and then maybe be ten or more minutes late going home. Which is wrong, it's like taking advantage of us because some douches were stealing two or three minutes from Mr. Adler."

Victor looked at Dean thoughtfully, "And what do the others do if they have a half a, what do you call them, a cage? When it is their time to go home?"

"They roll it back into the warehouse with stuff left on it."

"Well, if that is acceptable to your supervisors, then why don't you do that?" Victor said reasonably.

"Because it makes me feel like crap. Like I didn't get my job done." Dean seethed, "Take this morning. It was twelve minutes after when I clocked out and Mr. Alder saw me, and do you know what he said? Not 'thanks Dean for staying to finish that cage', but he says 'Only leaving now?' the motherfucker."

"Dean," Victor said patiently and leaned forward, "What do you do at home if say… you are mopping the kitchen and the doorbell rings?"

Dean chuffed a laugh, "I cuss the person under my breath as I go answer it."

"And say you are mid-sketch in the park and it begins to rain?"

"I cuss God for the rain, dash home and try to finish the drawing in my bedroom." Dean nodded, "OK Mr. Smarty Pants, you got me. I like to get things finished and I feel panicky and grumpy if I can't do that."

"It's all part of your anxiety disorder. But why not take this opportunity to work on that symptom. Put your crates of vegetables away at 10am, tell your supervisor you are finished, and go home knowing you have not failed in any way. Say to yourself 'My work is done. I have done all that was expected of me. I succeeded today,' and see how that works out."

Dean snorted, "I don't think I'll be saying that mantra, but I could try rolling stuff back and saying 'All done for today' or something."

"Whatever works." Victor smiled.

"Or I could quit the shithole." Dean grouched. "I'll give your way a shot, but maybe once we've a roof over our heads for the summer, I'm going to check in with Garth about changing jobs again."

"Good. That is a positive pro-active way to handle things. Don't leave a job until you have another lined up." Victor looked at his watch. "That's it for today Dean. You can update me on your work and on Sam at our next session, and remember everything doesn't have to be perfect, yes?"

"Yeah. Thanks man." Dean rose to go, "I dunno how you do it, but I feel better than when I came in."

"Glad to hear it," Victor nodded, "You take care now."

There was lightness to Dean's step as he made his way to Beans for an after-session beverage. Sam usually picked him up but the Impala's upholstery was being steam cleaned after the unfortunate puking incident. He sent Sam a text asking if he was OK and telling him he was pit-stopping for coffee. Dean had his light green army jacket over his black tee. The sun warmed him as he took his time mulling over Victor's advice and gearing up his resolve to finish his work shift the next morning without doing unnecessary and unappreciated extra time. Sam texted back to say he'd collected the Impala and that he had gotten the door open before he lost his lunch at the stop lights by the AT&T store. Dean laughed internally as he sent back congratulations on his brother's improving projectile vomit aim.

Opening the door Dean felt the heat of a busy coffee shop hit his face. He guessed Beans weren't pumping up the AC just yet. He could see Tamara and their new barista bustling to serve a short queue. Unexpectedly in the far corner there was the welcome sight of Castiel's side face as he lifted a bowl sized cappuccino to his lips. Dean shucked his jacket, draping it over his arm as he made his way towards the table. He was preparing to surprise Cas by touching the shoulder of his sky blue tee Dean liked so much. As he got closer he noticed Castiel was not alone. There was a tall slender brown haired guy wearing a beige Henley taking a sip from an espresso cup. Any doubt that Cas was sharing a table with a stranger vanished when the dude began conversing animatedly with Cas. When Castiel nodded and returned the guy's smile, Dean narrowed his eyes.

Dean wasn't jealous or threatened by Castiel having friends, but this dude was a stranger and they seemed so relaxed with each other. Dean chewed on his lip trying to convince his racing mind that the reason they were seated so close into each other's personal space, was because the coffee shop was busy. Castiel couldn't see Dean's approach as his nervous boyfriend threaded his way through the few central tables. Dean's palm tingled with the imminent sensation of the back of the vacant chair next to Castiel under his hand as he would pull it out, say hi, and steal a kiss.

Dean was startled when the guy rose without warning. Castiel followed suit. His eyes nearly came out on stalks as the two men hugged. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Castiel leaned forward and pecked the dude's cheek. Dean's forward movement stuttered awkwardly, suddenly conscious of the scar bisecting his own cheek. Castiel had kissed the guy. Dean tried to parse why. Maybe this was another one of Balthazar's siblings, Castiel's cousin, but Cas wasn't on such friendly terms with the rest of his family. He was right behind Cas now, but his legs were deadweight and his arms hung useless by his side.

The kiss-thieving guy air-kissed over Castiel's shoulder, then eased out of the embrace and grasped both of Castiel's hands in his. What the fuck? That was enough. Dean summoned every ounce of wronged-boyfriend-indignation and coughed pointedly.

Castiel turned, blue eyes wide and searching. Dean's heart stopped expecting guilt or shock to mar his boyfriend's features, but Cas beamed at him.

"Dean! Come meet Inias," He urged, extending an arm to draw Dean in, "I've been talking about how we met."

"I'm impressed," Inias's narrow face seemed to expand in a broad smile of greeting, "The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon."

Dean melted, all the ice of his fears rushing away. He recalled those first few words exchanged with Castiel.

"Inias shared classes for our biology minor when I transferred to Stanford." Castiel explained. "We met up again at the Shoreline interviews at Bodega High."

Dean asked diplomatically, "And y'both were close at Stanford?"

Inias seemed to pick up on Dean's challenge faster than Castiel who said affectionately, "Inias was my guide at the Biology faculty."

Inias added, "I was telling Castiel how much I'd love him to meet my partner and our daughter."

Dean's tensed muscles relaxed and he finally took the vacant seat. Castiel sat next to him and threaded their fingers together. Inias stayed standing and apologized that he had to hit the road. He said he would hope to meet Dean again. Dean shook his hand and prepared to extract more details from Cas.

The interrogation was delayed while Cas got Dean a tall roast blend of the day.

"Spill." Dean demanded when Castiel came back.

Of course Cas had to do that adorable head tilted narrowed eye questioning thing that made any heat leach out of Dean's words, "Inias, spill the beans?"

"Oh." Castiel puffed. "He is a teacher now. Teaches Social Science. He graduated two years before me, not being a half-time student. Did his teaching degree at Berkeley and got kept on by the school where he did his placement."

"Lucky bastard," Dean grumbled, sending mental daggers to Menlo Park High for not wanting to keep Cas.

Castiel huffed in acknowledgment. "It was nice to see a familiar face when they gave us a tour of the school, and he was passing through Palo Alto on his way back from visiting family."

Dean took a long drink of his coffee, "Soooo just to be clear, the dude is your work colleague and you were hugging because…?"

Castiel chuckled, "Potential work colleague and he showed me a picture of his little daughter, Poppy."

Dean figured he'd be churlish to have his nose out of joint because his boyfriend got mushy over the photo of a cutely named baby.

"Did you think…?" Castiel's eyes squinted and he pushed his head forward, "Dean, were you jealous?"

Dean cleared his throat and sat up straight.

"You were. You were jealous." Castiel broke out a beaming toothy grin.

"Maybe." Dean admitted.

"That is so cute," Castiel shifted his chair closer.

Dean bumped their shoulders together. "Didn't feel cute, felt burny and gack."

"Dean those aren't words. And it is very cutesy wootsey."

"Stop Cas." Dean felt his cheeks flush under the teasing, and refrained from correcting his boyfriend about the legitimacy of the word wootsey.

"You are so kissable when you are offended." Castiel pecked his cheek but with his cheek kiss Dean got an added squeeze around his waist and an offer to buy him any treat he wanted off Beans' menu.

The consolation cherry almond pie was awesome. Mid-slice Castiel managed to coax out of Dean that he'd had a tough session with Victor after a shit day at work, but the silver lining was that the Impala had been fumigated.

Tamara was clearing the table next to them and interrupted, "Sorry Castiel, Dean, I couldn't help overhearing. You know if you are serious about changing jobs other Light Up Your Beans shops take Ticket to Work Beneficiaries."

Dean poked Castiel with his fork, "You never told me that."

"Only the bigger ones have tickets," Tamara rescued Castiel, "But Ms. Kormos will be here next Saturday morning."

Dean clicked his tongue. "I work Saturdays."

"I can ask her, if Tamara will text me when she is due. I'll make sure to be here." Castiel offered. "I'd prefer to ask her face to face, rather than trying to get a call through to her. She is the big boss."

"If all Beans are like this one…" Dean thought aloud, "Sam might give me the Impala if I've gotta commute a stretch."

"One," Tamara laughed, "Don't shorten the name if you are talking to Ms. Kormos, and two I think you'd be great in a coffee shop. You'd move from bussing tables to barista in a flash, and the female clientele love a pretty face, voila I give you Castiel Fletcher."

"I dunno," Dean wasn't too embarrassed at being called pretty because Castiel got the deserved, in his opinion, same tag from Tamara, "There's times when the words won't come."

"But you talk all the time now," Tamara said.

"But I know you," Dean explained, "It's tough some days, but I talk with the customers at Greengoods most of the time, so I guess by the time I'd be trained as a barista… if I they have a vacancy and they wanted me."

"They'd be dumbasses not to want you," Castiel said with flagrant bias, "And once you start talking they wouldn't be able to stop you. Tamara, fair warning, don't mention the Buffy finale."

"What?" Dean protested, "I have feelings about the show. They freaking killed Spike and Anya. I mean why kill Spike. It makes no sense."

"See," Castiel said smugly as Tamara was called back to the counter. "You ready to go home Dean?"

With a final finger swipe at the cherry filling smear on his empty plate, Dean put on his jacket. Once Cas had unlocked his bike and moved to the edge of the sidewalk to guide it home, he offered his arm to Dean. His text to tell Sam he was going to Castiel's place had been sent so he happily linked elbows.

Castiel shouted for his cousin as they entered the house, but Balthazar was probably still at Harmonies. While Cas got two beers and a bag of paprika chips, Dean turned on the TV. Rolling news from Iraq came on screen. Dean decided he'd wait to see what Cas wanted to watch, although he probably could guess Discovery Channel. Instead of sitting down next to Dean, Castiel's face was all scrunched up and he was searching his pockets and his wallet.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"Inias wrote his home and cell phone on a napkin for me. He said if I call him in a week or so, he'll fill me in on any insider information he can procure from the staff at the high school." Castiel huffed as he booted up the chunky laptop on the desk by the wall. "Excuse me a minute, Dean."

Dean wandered over to see what Cas was doing. He rested his hand on Castiel's warm shoulder watching as he brought up a phone listings site.

"Hey Cas, can you get anyone's number on that site?"

"Yeah as long as they are listed." Cas answered distractedly as he wrote down the listing for Inias Faith, "You want to look up something?"

Dean nodded. He made a quiet sigh of relief when Castiel got up to find the remote giving him some privacy. The boxes wanted first and last names and city, zip or area code.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard suspended in sudden indecision. He gritted his teeth and typed Samuel Campbell and Lawrence. There were no matching results. He bit his lip, maybe they were dead. He didn't like to think that but it was a possibility, one that made his guts twist with a loss he didn't know he would feel. He tried Dean Campbell but hit another blank. Curling his fingers into his palm and pressing his nails into skin, Dean noticed a tab saying search options. When he clicked, he saw he could widen his criteria. Puffing a breath, he checked what Cas was doing. True to form the Discovery Channel was on screen, something about automated manufacturing. Dean watched German engineered robots fixing bolts into panels and hoped Cas might leave that on. He gave finding his grandfathers one last shot. He combined Campbell and Kansas knowing he'd get a crapload of results. Luckily they were alphabetical. He scrolled down until he found S & D Campbell, of Apartment 19, Pinelands Retirement Community, Eudora. Mouthing a silent 'Yatzee' he peeled off the top post-it from Castiel's multi-colored block and scribbled down the telephone number. As he asked Cas if he should shut down windows, he stuffed the note into his jeans pocket.

After the German robots had built a Porto-cabin, Cas extracted his body from Dean's tentacle hold. He produced a box of salted caramel chocolates explaining that one of his students gave them to him.

"Another crush?" Dean teased.

Cas squinted at him and popped a chocolate into Dean's open mouth. Dean moaned around the milky chocolate that broke into melting gooiness with a hit of salty sweetness. "Oh My God they are so good."

"I know," Cas said with self-satisfaction as he took one.

"I bet your mouth tastes of heaven," Dean said in his best sultry tone.

Castiel got with the program. He climbed on the seat, kneeling between Dean's legs. He leaned in, cupping Dean's jaw and opening him up with a slow but insistent pressing of his tongue. Dean tasted along Castiel's teeth and into the soft inside of his cheek. The sweetness continued into prolonged soft kisses and exploring gentle touches. They tingled Dean's body and made him gasp. Castiel curled his hand around the back of Dean's neck and aligned their bodies. Dean closed his eyes, breathing in Castiel's presence. Small nibbling kisses made a trail along Dean's jaw and down his neck. Dean ran his hands through Castiel's hair wanting this moment to linger. They didn't make a move for the bedroom, instead curling up together as the light faded and the TV threw blue light on the ceiling. Dean cracked his neck and Castiel made room for them to be entangled in a mutually comfortable embrace.

"That was very satisfying," Cas muttered.

"I'm so relaxed I could float up like one of those ashram dudes on the book covers in your cousin's store." Dean mumbled into Cas's skin.

"No levitating away, I'm too sleepy," Castiel murmured.

Dean snuggled in. It was exactly what he needed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++

Dean heeded Victor's advice. He didn't down tools at 10am on the button, but once he had packed the box he was working on, or tidied the specific shelf he was stationed at, he put away his roll cage or cleaning materials and headed home. After a full week of his new rule, neither Mitchell or Mr. Alder had commented.

It was Sunday morning. Sarah and Ash had slept elsewhere. Brady had risen early and gone to the gym to burn off his excess exam energy. Their last classes of the year would be on Wednesday. Sam had designated their bedroom desk as a no-touch revision zone. Dean was fine with that. He had taken to sketching or writing his journal with his legs crossed on his futon.

If anyone asked, Dean had not found the recipe for fluffy blueberry pancakes in a girlie magazine that Sarah had left on the coffee table, and he definitely had not opened said magazine because of the cover mentioned article that promised the best of new season panties. He also was not dusting his created pancake stack with diced green olives.

"Sammy," Dean curved his body out the family room door and yelled up, "Pancakes getting cold. Shake your butt."

Under the assessing eye of a concerned brother, Sam looked reasonably well that morning. His color was good and he had put one of his loose tees over lounge pants which Dean knew had an elastic waist band. He was picking his battles and suggestions of expectant father clothes shopping were not high on his discussion list.

"Is this bribery?" Sam asked as he forked three pancakes onto his warmed plate and reached for the maple syrup.

Dean wondered where Sam got the psychic gene as he added a can of spray cream to the table. It was finally the right time to talk.

"I did want to talk about some stuff." Dean admitted. "You want a de-caf?"

Sam nodded but looked at Dean suspiciously. "What?"

Dean scrubbed his hand over his mouth and chin, "About finding a new place to live…"

"Look Dean," Sam blew a long breath, "I get it. You need to know where we are going, but I got this, once the exams are done, I'm on it."

"I believe you." Dean treaded carefully, "You know it's alright to ask for help."

"Excuse me?" Sam bristled. "Is this an intervention? You gonna get Garth in on this?"

Dean looked skyward for inspiration. "I could get a list of family friendly decent apartments from Garth, but I won't do it, if you don't want me to."

He took a moment. Thankfully Sam didn't interrupt, although Dean feared that was because his little brother was silent with anger.

"Sammy, I get help. Hell, I wouldn't be here if Layla, Deacon, Victor, Cas, You didn't offer me your help and support."

"Dee, I…" Sam seemed lost for words.

"It's not wrong to ask other people when you need a helping hand." Dean gulped. "No-one will think less of you. I wouldn't. Nick wouldn't."

"Geez, Dean. I don't think that about you. No way. God, I think you are… you are so strong. I guess, I learned if I didn't help myself and pull myself up by my bootstraps nobody else was gonna. I had to fight and claw my way here," Sam sniffed back his emotions, "On my own, and I wasn't going to let anyone stop me. So it's kinda hard when you learn not to ask."

Dean mentally cursed their father. "I know I'm on a repeating loop here but I wish I'd been there for ya."

Sam blinked back tears, "But this is on me Dean. I need to provide you with a place to live"

"Bull shit. Sammy. I'm your big brother." Dean tried, "Let me help. Nick is almost on his knees pleading for ways to help."

Sam was silent. He took a slurp of coffee. Dean thought that was a good sign.

"I believe you could find us great digs, Sam. I do. But why don't you tell Nick about our hunt?" Dean raised his palm before Sam could have a seething mood swing, "He wants to help. It's not asking for charity if you have that bullshit notion in your big brain. He is your partner. And he has his ear on the ground."

"He has his what on the where now?" Sam asked around partially chewed pancake.

"At The Gates. People tell their bartender everything. He could be hearing of mega places coming up for rental."

Sam hummed. "Yeah. I guess."

Dean would have fist pumped if he didn't think he'd be put in a headlock. He thought he might have to buy Victor a new red striped tie if all his advice hit home runs.

"Y'know Lucile Packard runs baby classes?" Sam asked before Dean could move onto the news that he had a post-it with their granddaddies' phone number stuck in the back of his journal.

Dean nodded. When Sam and Nick had come back from meeting their new ob-gyn, Dr. Milton, they had been full of praise for Lucille Packard hospital and the straight talking practical doctor. Sam had leaflets on a range of classes that he was hoping Nick would take with him over the summer.

"There is one for the expectant parent and a sibling or close friend. Would you come?" Sam asked gingerly, "There might be babies and maybe other carriers?"

"Hey I love babies." Dean grinned, knowing Sam was thinking that going to a children's hospital might bring back bad memories, "Who do you think changed Gossie's first diaper?"

Sam laughed, "Just as long as you didn't name Chuck's baby."

"I know. You're not thinking of anything like Gossamer or Tulle or Ball of Yarn, are you Sam?"

That got Sam to throw his head back and laugh in a way that brightened Dean's day.

"So when we go in for the ultrasound after the exams, I'll put us down for that class." Sam said pleased.

While he was on a roll, Dean thought he'd stick his neck on the line, "You know, dude, very soon that tee isn't going to hide much."

Sam leaned back in the chair letting the cotton stretch over his slightly thickened waistline. He drifted a hand down to rest on his belly.

"Bumpage code red, huh?" Sam smiled, "I guess. Sometimes it seems like forever until my due date in December, and then other times I can't believe how fast… Anna said that I could have a small but pronounced bump by the end of this month... I think…"

Dean finished his cold cup of coffee, while Sam paused.

"I think that once the exams are done, it will be time to share the little one's arrival."

Dean grinned, "Thank God Sammy. I hate keeping shit from Cas. He's always asking how you are."

"About that. I think it's safe to tell Cas."

"Now?" Dean checked.

"Well maybe not this minute but yeah. He's not going to take out a full page spread with the news."

Dean laughed, "You mean like Jess and Sarah would want to do, but they wouldn't."

"I was thinking more of Brady crowing it in the kitchen at work." Sam chuckled.

There was a ring of the doorbell. Dean shoved back his chair, "We good Sam?"

"Golden," Sam grinned.

On the stoop Castiel stood with his hands in his jeans pockets while Balthazar examined Sarah's blue glass Turkish evil eye protection amulet that hung from a nail.

"Hi," Dean pulled the door back.

"Hello Dean," Castiel smiled.

"May we come in?" Balthazar asked.

"Sure dudes." Dean gestured them by, "There's fresh coffee in the pot, but it's decaf. Sam's in the kitchen."

"Lovely home," Balthazar commented, "Bigger than mine. I'm sorry you guys have to move."

Sam waved hello. Castiel asked him if he was over his stomach bug. Sam replied that he was much better, which was true, as his morning sickness was now a sort of afternoon nausea with rare actual vomiting.

"How do you take it?" Dean asked Balthazar while he stirred two sugars and creamer into Castiel's cup.

"Black, darling, like my heart."

"You say the strangest things," Castiel pursed his lips at his cousin while he took his cup from Dean.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Sam asked, his friendly tone putting their new visitor at ease.

Balthazar leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his ankles, "I would like to renew and re-extend my charming invitation to the Winchester brothers to recline on my sofa and in my cousin's bed as appropriate while you source new accommodations."

"Balthazar," Sam answered, "That is very kind of you but we couldn't…"

"I have lived in a natural community…"

"Commune." Castiel hissed playfully.

"Darlings. The more the merrier." The blond beamed, "As long as dear Sam can extend his long limbs over the low arm of our sofa, we will be house fellows."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Dean didn't say a word. It was up to Sam if he wanted to cover or tell.

"It is a real generous offer, but I have another person to consider." Sam said.

"Who?" Castiel asked, "Has Brady stood up to his father?"

"No," Sam ducked his head and cupped his belly loosely with joined hands, "This little one. I'm expecting."

"Sam!" Castiel leaped off his chair and surprised Sam with a rapid and back clapping hug. "That's wonderful. It is wonderful? Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean answered while Balthazar shook Sam's hand and air-kissed over both of his cheeks, "It was freaking a bolt out of the blue, but now it's magic."

"Well my offer definitely bloody well stands now." Balthazar insisted, "Dean's bed isn't a house fixture. Didn't your partner buy it? I can clear furniture and you could have a proper bed in our lounge?"

"Thank you," Sam promised to think about it, but Dean knew Sam didn't fancy not having a bedroom. Dean could understand too that Sam might feel a bit anxious about living in Castiel's home. Suspecting that Nick was going to insist that they live in Moss Beach with him, Dean was already preparing that the benefit of having his own room would be weighed against hearing sex-noises from his brother's bedroom.

"Do you know if it is a boy or a girl?" Castiel asked.

"It's too early," Dean answered from his expert knowledge of the guys' scans at ACIC, "If Sammy wants to know, it will be another few weeks."

"I have news too." Castiel said and reached for Dean's hand, "Not as momentous, but there was a letter l was procrastinating over opening, until Balthazar threatened to read it out to me this morning. I've been offered a teaching position."

Dean tensed. Castiel squeezed his hand.

"Where Cas?" Dean choked out.

"Bodega High," Castiel answered, "It's a small school, small class sizes but really up to date. They offer chemistry and biology now, but I suggested in my interviews that I'd set up an optional physics class for their gifted and AP students, and Inias heard that they loved that, so I got it. I got the job."

Dean hugged his boyfriend tight in part congratulations and part possessiveness. Sam added his cheery well done.

"This won't change anything Dean." Castiel retook his hand and met Dean's eye, "I swear to you. I might be teaching a couple of hours away, but we'll make it work."

Dean was comforted by the commitment in Castiel's words and expression but it was upsetting to imagine a long distance relationship, with their contact limited to weekends, and what if the school wanted Cas to get involved in weekend extra-curricular stuff. He became aware his mind had drifted and Cas was telling Sam and Balthazar about some Summer school event.

"Inias and Alfie have offered me a bed in their box room for the two week summer school job, and they'll help me find an apartment for The Fall." Castiel finished.

"Isn't it a bit rich to expect you to work this summer?" Dean felt peeved that more precious time was being taken from them.

"No Dean, not at all," Castiel tilted his head, "It's an opportunity to meet some of the other teachers and to get to know the enthusiastic and AP students before term commences. They only want me from Monday of one week until the Friday evening of the next."

Dean could see how excited Castiel was. He tried to match his smiles and his joy but that little undermining voice was in his head, driving him to crave a couple of chewed up Xanax so he could put a stop to its repetitive chant of 'he is leaving you.' He gripped Castiel's hand tighter hoping he would never have to let him go.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++

Some Notes:

The Shoreline Unified Schools District exists but the real High School for the communities is in Tomales. I didn't want to use a real school so I invented one in the little town of Bodega Bay which in real life has only an elementary school.

Shout out to Nyx Ro who several chapters ago suggested that Dean should be the one to point out to Sam what it is fine to ask for help. I will quote her suggested words for Dean. She nicely put it that Dean could use "the irrefutable argument "Do you think less of me because I receive help?"."

Next Chapter continues Dean POV, but anyone looking for mpreg Sam's outlook, the following chapter will be from Sam's POV.

Thanks everyone for all your reviews, follows and favorites and for continuing to read my tale.


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